The Ringing of the Bells
by silmarillion279
Summary: Hunchback of Notre Dame but Esmerelda has been genderswapped into the gypsy boy, Ezmere who is still the victim of Frollo's brutal obsession. It is set in the same world as the Disney movie but I made several of my own characters and story lines. Feel free to comment or review. WARNING: contains mature scenes, noncon and rape. Thanks for reading!
1. Chapter 1

The gypsies were dancing again, but perhaps that was too plain a word. They moved recklessly and yet with a perfect grace that few others could hope to match. Their bright clothing lit up the otherwise dull grey that was Paris.

It was a beautiful sight to behold with their bronzed skin gleaming in the sunlight and their dark hair swirling through the air as they leapt and spun. Their smiles were matched by all who watched but for one man, the Minister of Justice, Claude Frollo.

He was a skeletally thin man who loomed over his parishioners, especially when condemning them. His hair had turned silver with age and it shone like the polished metal of the rings that adorned his fingers.

One pale digit beat a solemn march on the arm of his straight backed, wooden chair. How he wished a gypsy would drop with every blow. He found them all to be such dirty, loathsome, creatures. A plague on his city.

He was not the only one who found them vile. Many of the people disliked and distrusted them but as Frollo studied the onlookers, he found their faces to be full of adoration and something almost like envy.

Frollo wrinkled his long nose in disgust.

Certainly, the gypsies had a hellish beauty about them, but they were sinners all the same.

Burdened with the knowledge that there was nothing he could do to break the primal curse of the dance, he settled back into his chair and watched the dance with pursed lips and a stern countenance.

He found his eyes landing more than once on a young man who danced with twice the enthusiasm and speed of his friends.

His skin shone with a sheen of sweat from his exertions and thick, black hair curled around his ears.

Even from Frollo's seat he could see the boy's sea green eyes which were alight with laughter as he moved through the circle of dancers.

His clothes were outlandish in Frollo's opinion, but he thought that of all gypsy clothing. The boy's purple pants were no exception and he wore a teal and gold belt around his slim waist to contain the white shirt that hung open at the neck.

Why they couldn't dress like good Christian people, Frollo didn't know. But still, he had to admit, the boy would have looked stifled in the clothes of the commoners. Now, caught up in the midst of the dance he looked exquisitely wild and free.

Frollo wasn't the only one to have noticed the boy. The women were staring at him with adoration etched plainly on their faces and perhaps it was that open longing that caused the men to puff their chests and prowl about like dogs.

One man, who Frollo knew to be member of the city guard, cupped his hands around his mouth and called, "Hey, pretty boy! Leave the dancing to the women!"

The boy turned towards him with a grin and swayed his hips in a suggestive manner before winking and returning to his friends.

The guard turned scarlet and Frollo clutched his chair with bloodless knuckles, his nails scraping into the splintering wood.

The boy, unaware of the hatred being sent his way, leaned down from the stage and extended his hand to a young woman who was watching with wide eyes.

Electric rage shot through Frollo's body and he thundered, "Don't you dare!"  
His words slammed into the crowd like leaden bullets and everything ground to a screeching halt.

The boy immediately straightened up and searched the crowd for the speaker. His eyes locked onto Frollo who had surged up from his seat.

"Do you wish to go to hell, woman?" Frollo shouted, shaking a hand at the now cowering girl. She shook her head, terror in her eyes, and darted out of sight.

The boy watched her go with a frown then said, "Why should she not dance?" His voice was heavily accented with the dialect of the mountain gypsies.

Frollo sneered at him. "The day I allow a good, Christian woman to join in your debauchery is the day I die!"

The boy looked him over head to toe, taking in the gray hair and the lines that age had carved onto Frollo's face. "Then she'll be dancing any day now."

The crowd gasped and the other gypsies exchanged nervous looks. The boy shared none of their concern and moved forward to the edge of the stage to stare down at Frollo.

"Do you know to whom you speak?" Frollo hissed.

"I must admit, I've not been in the city long," the boy laughed. "Feel free to enlighten me."

The humiliated guard from earlier moved to Frollo's side and brandished his spear in the boy's face. "Hold your tongue, rat! This is the Minister of Justice! You're not fit to lick his boots!"

The boy lazily flicked the spear out of his face and gave Frollo a dramatic bow.

"Well met, Minister. My name is Ezmere and you must forgive me. I had no idea we had attracted such an esteemed member of Parisian nobility to our humble dance." He straightened back up and now addressed the entire crowd. "But tell me, does your God condemn dance? Does the scripture not say, "'Let them praise His name with dancing; Let them sing praises to Him with timbrel and lyre.'"

Frollo was extremely taken aback and for a moment all he could do was gape at the boy. He wasn't used to having scripture quoted at him.

The crowd's gaze now shifted to Frollo to see how he would respond. It would have been wiser for them to leave, but this was drama of an untold scale. They wouldn't miss it for the world.

Frollo recovered quickly. "You blasphemous brat! How dare you use the blessed scripture to justify your crimes. You-"

But Ezmere had grown bored of Frollo's insults. He spun his tambourine in his hand and said, "A brat I may be, but blasphemous I am not. I can provide you with more verses if you'd like."

Before Frollo could stop him, he said so all could hear, "'Again I will build you and you will be rebuilt, O virgin of Israel! Again you will take up your tambourines, And go forth to the dances of the merrymakers.'" He flipped his tambourine high into the air and caught it with ease, his smile now aimed at the crowd. "I have a tambourine, do I not? Now all I need is a crowd of merrymakers! Who will dance with us in honor of your God?"

There was a great cheer as the music began again and the crowd joined in on the dancing.

Ezmere observed all this with a satisfied glint in his eyes.

"How dare you..." Frollo muttered, a thunderous rage building in his chest. He could not stop the crowd from dancing lest it seem he was contradicting the scripture Ezmere had quoted. He turned to the guard and muttered, "Take the gypsies under arrest. All of them."

Ezmere cast a glance over his shoulder at the other gypsies who were watching warily. This pleased Frollo. Perhaps the boy was new to Paris but the rest of them weren't.

When Frollo's gaze returned to the boy, he saw Ezmere grinning at him which only agitated him further.

"Surrender yourself and perhaps I will be merciful," Frollo said, though mercy was not his style. "After all, the noose is a quick death. It's nothing like the flames of a pyre."

Something flashed in Ezmere's eyes but then it was gone. "You are merciful beyond measure," he agreed dryly. He then vaulted off the stage and somersaulted over Frollo only to land behind him, graceful as a cat. His hand shot out and he snatched the tricorned hat from Frollo's head and set it down on his own dark curls.

"Arrest him!" Frollo screamed, all sense of decorum lost. "Arrest him now!"

Ezmere laughed and darted up the steps to Frollo's chair and threw himself into the seat. He sat back with his legs thrown over the arm and within seconds, was surrounded by a thicket of spears from more guards who had joined the skirmish.

Ezmere was unconcerned by the weapons. He withdrew a pouch from his pocket and began eating bits of dried fruit. He offered the bag to the guards but chuckled when the motion was met with growls. He threw the bag to them anyways and settled back in the chair as if napping, one hand still on the hat to keep it on his head.

Frollo pushed through the guards to the chair, his hands curled into fists. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't have you killed on the spot."

Ezmere now pulled the hat up enough that Frollo caught a glimpse of one brilliant, green eye. "Well you wouldn't want to get my filthy, gypsy blood all over this hat now would you?"

Frollo reached out and ripped the hat from Ezmere's head. His hands were shaking with a cold hatred. "Get on your knees, you vile creature!"

Ezmere considered this, then said, "No."

Several muscles in Frollo's cheek twitched as he spat again, "Get on your knees! Jackson, run him through."

Ezmere had stiffened at his words but then he looked to the guard named Jackson and his face split into an evil grin. "Oh, don't make Jackson kill me! He thinks I'm pretty!"

As all eyes turned to Jackson, Ezmere suddenly leapt from the chair, grabbed a handful of powder from his pocket and threw it to the ground. There was a loud bang and copious amounts of red smoke coiled through the air. Chaos ensued.

Frollo was shoved this way and that as his guards blundered about in confusion.

A hand landed on his shoulder and he sensed someone come up behind him. The musky smell of spices, sweat and earth came to his nostrils. It was the boy.

A thrill shot through Frollo's body as Ezmere pulled him back. He hit the young man's chest and suppressed a shiver at the feeling of rock hard muscle. He could feel Ezmere's warm breath on his neck and goosebumps erupted on his skin as Ezmere whispered, "Take caution, continue on this violent path and you will find yourself on the opposite side of the god you profess to serve."

He took his hand from Frollo's shoulder and took a few steps back, his arms spread wide as he taunted, "And gypsies aren't eager to go to their knees." He paused and gave Frollo a quick once over. "At least not for men like you."

Then, he was gone.

Frollo stood alone, his chest heaving as the smoke began to clear. The dancing had stopped and the crowd had finally fled, fearing Frollo's retribution.

His heart was still beating a frantic pace but he let none of his emotions show on his face as he wiped a fine layer of ash from his robes. The gypsies were long gone. Frollo guessed they'd ran while Ezmere distracted the crowd.

"I want that taken down," he said motioning to wooden stage. He reached out and grabbed Jackson's arm, pulling the other man close. "And I want that boy. He must pay for his crimes."

Jackson nodded and began barking orders.

Frollo turned to face the dark alley where the gypsies had run. He knew that it led to their hovels and dilapidated tents on the edge of the city. He was sure the boy was there now, doubtless laughing about how he had humiliated the great Minister of Justice.

Frollo's lips pulled back into a silent snarl. No matter how long it took, the boy would pay. He would go to his knees.


	2. Chapter 2

Ezmere was in no great hurry as he wound through the cobblestone streets. He wasn't used to such a hard, cold ground beneath his bare feet and he thought wistfully of the mountains and rivers of his youth.

And while the wildnerness held his heart, he wasn't blind to the beauty of the city. The cathedral of Notre Dame had captured his interest from the first time he saw it. It always amazed him what could be accomplished by human hands.

Over the past few months he'd spent many hours perched in the cathedral's dark rafters, watching the worship services and the parishioners. It was there however, that he had developed a deep dislike for Claude Frollo.

Ezmere knew well who the man was, but guessed feigning ignorance was the best way to avoid a noose around his neck. It seemed ironic that such a cruel man was in charge of the fates of so many people.

A darkness settled over him as he pictured Frollo sneering at him and a sour taste filled his mouth. He hated that man.

This brooding train of thought lingered as he walked, but then he caught sight of many small camp fires, all glowing happily in the twilight, and his spirits lifted.

Tending to one fire at the edge of the camp was his adopted mother, Marleen. She was of medium height but lithe like all gypsies. Her hair was full of feathers and braids and the occasional streak of grey for which she blamed Ezmere. He figured she was right to blame him. He had not been an easy child to raise.

He stepped out of the shadows and she whipped around at the noise, a staff held defensively in her hands.

The firelight flickered across Ezmere's face and Marleen lowered her weapon when she recognized him.

Ezmere smiled and opened his arms to embrace her but recoiled as she slapped him on the side of his head.

He cried out and darted out of her striking range.

"You full well deserve it, you foolish boy!" she shouted. "How could you be so reckless?"

It seemed news of his encounter with Frollo had already reached the camp.

"You don't understand," he began. "The way he was leering at us! The way he speaks like he-"

Marleen hit him again, interrupting his rant, then pulled him into a fierce hug. "I don't care! Goading the Minister of Justice! I didn't read you their Bible just so you could vomit verses at the nearest clergyman!"

He stifled an angry sigh. He knew she was right but his pride was still insisting otherwise. "I'm sorry," he ground out.

Marleen's hold on him loosened and she reached up to kiss his forehead. "You made a dangerous enemy today, mon cheri. You must be more careful!"

"I know, I'm sorry," he repeated this time a bit more honestly.

She let go of him and turned back to the fire. "Oh Ezmere, hardly three months you've been in this city and already they're going to be hunting you."

He ducked his head, real shame now eating at his heart. There were few people on the earth who could make him feel as guilty as Marleen.

She hugged him once more then shoved him in the direction of the rest of the camp. "Now go tend to your woman. She's sick with worry."

Ezmere caught her hand and gave it a squeeze then he laughed and danced out of reach as she tried to hit him in the backside with her staff.

The ragtag tents of the camp were bathed in the yellow glow of the fires, illuminating the people who sat around them laughing and trading stories.

Ezmere was greeted with both praise and glares. He took both in his stride and smiled at them all but refused the food he was offered. Hungry as he was, Abella came first.

He ducked into her tent and was greeted with a sigh of relief as she tackled him in a hug. "You stupid goat!" she cried between kisses. "I was so afraid the guards had taken you!"

Her small hands began hitting every part of him that she could reach but Ezmere hadn't finished kissing her yet. He trapped her flailing fists in one hand then used the other to pull her close to his chest. He moved his lips against hers until her anger dissipated and she kissed him back with vigor.

They fell backwards into a pile of fabric and furs and Ezmere straddled her waist, taking great care not to let his lips leave hers.

Abella laughed and wove her fingers in to his hair as his kisses traveled to her neck. "Part of me wishes I could have seen it. I heard you were magnificent."

"They said that?" Ezmere asked, delighted with the attention.

Abella smirked. "Don't let it go to your head. Half the camp thinks you're a hero, the other half thinks you a fool of the largest proportions."

"Mmmm. And what am I to you?" he asked as he continued his ministrations. He caught her lower lip between his teeth and bit her gently before moving to place kisses along her jaw.

She gave an airy sigh and threw her arms around him. "A fool." She gasped as he placed his fingers on her neck and began slowing dragging them downwards. "A perfect, wonderful, idiotic fool."

Ezmere chuckled deep in his throat. That suited him just fine. He stopped kissing her so that he could unclasp his belt and throw his shirt over his head.

"And what do you think you're doing?" Abella asked, eyeing his bare chest with amusement.

"Well," Ezmere began as he lowered himself back down over her body. "I had intended to fuck you until every person in the camp heard you scream my name. Then they'll have no doubt as my place among heroes."

She laughed and kissed him before saying, "Then you'd better make it fast. I've places to be this night."

"Ugh, must I share you?"

"You must," she said with a coy smile. "But I'll give you the first go of it. Make it good."

"Is that a challenge?"

"Yes."

He tried to look intimidating but the sight of her below him, her dark hair splayed out across the furs, made him smile.

"I love you."

She flushed bright red and tried to brush it off. "You love anything that moves."

At that moment, a rat scurried across the floor of the tent and Ezmere lunged for it. He grabbed it and snuggled its writhing body against his chest.

"Oh rat! You just happened to be walking by and I do so love anything that moves!" he sighed, putting extra emphasis on the word anything.

Abella threw a hand over her mouth to contain her laughter.

Ezmere smiled down at her then shouted, "Hey out there! My contribution to dinner!" And he threw the rat out of the tent.

They heard a great ruckus and a loud crack that sounded suspiciously like Marleen's staff meeting flesh and a last, small squeak.

"See how I provide?" Ezmere pointed out. "I'd make a wonderful husband."

"You really would," Abella agreed.

He kissed her nose then shook out his arms and rolled his neck. "No more smiles. I believe I promised to make you scream."

Her laughter dwindled as he fixed his eyes on hers and began kissing her again.

It wasn't the same kiss as they'd shared before, but a lustful and passionate tangle of lips and tongues as the rest of the word began to fade away.

He pulled a ribbon from the ties of her corset, leaving the garment sitting loosely on her chest. It was practically begging to be ripped off but he restrained himself.

He wound the ribbon between her wrists and flicked it end over end until it sat tightly over her wrists. Her eyes flashed with surprise then approval and Ezmere tied the other end of ribbon to the tent post at her head.

With her hands secured, he now turned his attention to the corset. It was a soft shade of ocean blue which matched the color of her eyes. He loved seeing her wear it and that was the only reason he didn't shred it.

Instead, he placed a finger under the fabric and slowly dragged it upwards, the corset lifting as he went. He felt her shudder as he neared her breasts and only then did he let the fabric fall to the sides, exposing her chest to the night air.

Any restraint he'd felt vanished at the sight of her writhing below him and he let wild abandon take hold.

He bent forwards over her chest, grinding his hips against her the whole while.

Abella arched her back in pleasure. He gave her a playful bite and she yipped in delight.

"Don't be gentle with me," she panted, her head thrown back in bliss.

He hadn't been planning on it.

He massaged her with rough hands, squeezing and pinching when he pleased. He'd made her scream from working only her breasts before but tonight he said he meant to fuck her, and he did.

He nudged her legs apart with his knee and began rubbing her with his thigh while his lips returned to hers.

He felt her try to touch him only to encounter the ribbon and she snarled, making him smile against her skin. No, tonight was for him to drive her mad. To make her think of him every time she was bedded by another man.

With one hand still attending to her breasts, he reached down and tugged her long skirt from her legs and threw it aside. He wanted nothing in his way.

She was already wet for him and the sight filled him with insatiable, animalistic pride. He dipped a finger inside her and was rewarded with a moan of desire.

"More," she begged.

He obliged with a second finger and began massaging her walls, his fingertips lingering on the small pad of spongy flesh that he knew would drive her mad. She bit her lip to keep from crying out as he used his thumb to begin rubbing soft circles. Her hips shot off the ground and she writhed back and forth.

He began pumping in and out of her, increasing his speed with every gasp and moan she made but as he saw her breathing begin to constrict and her gasps grow higher in pitch, he withdrew his fingers all together.

"Ezmere!" she cried. "Don't stop!"

He wasn't stopping, but his sticky fingers had moved to push away his pants. His began stroking himself while staring down at the panting girl before him.

"Ez!" Her voice was a choked plea for him to touch her. He allowed his tip to touch her and she grit her teeth.

Her panting had become desperate but still Ezmere waited. He continued to tease her until he thought she might go mad, then he positioned himself at her entrance and thrust into her.

All her whining ceased and her eyes flew open, her hips shooting off the ground.

A strangled gasp escaped Ezmere's lips as he felt her tighten around him. He withdrew only to pound into her again. He ripped the ribbon from her wrists, now wanting to feel her touch.

Her hands flew to his back to clutch at him. Her nails drew blood as she began moving her hips with his. Their eyes closed in mutual bliss as they pumped against each other.

Abella rolled so she was on top, her breasts bouncing with every thrust as she rode him and her head thrown back, her mouth hanging open.

Ezmere sat up so she was still on top but he bit at her breasts with his teeth.

Abella's rapturous expression intensified and she bowed her head, her dark hair falling around both their faces and her fingers wrapping around his neck.

Heated friction built with every thrust.

Ezmere was relentless.

He thrust deeper and faster, unable to contain his grunts of pleasure every time he rocked into her.

Suddenly, Abella threw her head back with a scream of delight as her high washed over her.

Ezmere followed close behind. He pulled her to his chest and moaned hoarsely, his face buried in her waves of hair as fiery pleasure made him shake from head to toe.

They remained frozen, both of them clutching at each other, until the world came back into focus and they let out a consecutive, trembling breath before collapsing.

"So?" Ezmere panted. "How did I do?"

Abella had thrown an arm over her eyes but her smile told him all he needed to know.


	3. Chapter 3

Ezmere woke to the ringing of the bells. He stretched out, his hands groping for Abella, only to encounter air and warm furs where she had lain. So she had left then but not until very recently. She'd stayed at his side throughout the night and the thought made him smile.

Suddenly, the flap of the tent flew open and Marleen peered inside. "Wake up, you lazy boy."

Ezmere stifled a curse at her abrupt appearance and threw a fur over himself to hide his nakedness.

Marleen rolled her eyes. "Oh, don't bother with modesty now. The whole camp heard your frolicking last night."

A grin tugged at his lips and he whispered, "Dinner and a show."

She scoffed and threw the tent flap back down.

Still grinning, Ezmere pulled on his clothes and ducked out of the tent.

Marleen thrust a bowl of stew into his hands. "Eat, then go wash in the river. You stink of sex."

Several men walked past and one of them clapped him on the shoulder while the others voiced their approval in lewd terms. Marleen fixed them with a withering glare and they scurried away, giggling like school girls.

Ezmere bit his lip and stared down at his stew to keep from laughing as her scolding followed them down the street.

Once he'd finished eating, he left the camp to wash.

The rivers in Paris were perhaps his least favorite part of the city. The water was murky and brown, a far cry to the surging streams and brooks that he'd grown up with. He was used to water so clear, one could see the bottom even of the deepest lake but here he couldn't even see his feet.

Long before he had ever arrived in Paris, the gypsies had dug a channel from a small vein of the Seine. The water ran over meticulously arranged layers of sticks, rocks, dirt, fine sand and ash before landing in a small pond.

It was the one spot of glimmering water in the whole of Paris. It was beloved by all and especially by Ezmere. It made him long for the ocean and for nights spent camping on rocky beaches with bonfires and the singing of Marleen's violin.

The water was cold and he shivered a bit as he swam. He could have happily stayed there for hours but knew Marleen was waiting for him.

Today was expected to be dull as the gypsies did not dare dance again so soon after his fiasco with Frollo so he set about helping the camp however he could by chopping firewood, washing clothes and then going to the market with Marleen to trade for food.

The sun was high overhead by the time she released him, so he wandered the city, careful to keep a warry eye out for Frollo or his guards.

The bells rang again signaling the noon mass and Ezmere found himself standing at the base of Notre Dame.

He wouldn't go inside, not now when it was packed with nobles all rushing to confess their sins, but he did climb a nearby tree so he could study the building without attracting any strange glances.

He wasn't quite sure why the cathedral bewitched him so, but he suspected it had to do with the building's bloody past.

From what Marleen had told him, his parents had been just two of many trying to flee persecution by hiding in the cathedral, but the doors had not opened. Sanctuary had not been granted and over one hundred gypsies had been slaughtered in the night, some with a rope around their neck but most bathed in flames.

The fires had burned for weeks, plunging all of Paris into a cloud of darkness as every last trace of the gypsies camp was purged.

Marleen and a few others had managed to escape and she took Ezmere with her, all of them fleeing the city for almost two decades. Eventually other gypsy tribes had rebuilt the camp and it became a haven for the wandering people, with no one staying very long. A constant flow of new people brought new wares and more money from the city trades.

Yet it was a dangerous life and it could end at any moment with a man like Frollo in charge.

Ezmere stiffened as he saw the man himself bustle into the cathedral, a gaggle of followers and soldiers in tow. They streamed inside then the massive wooden doors boomed shut and silence fell once more over the town square.

Ezmere cocked his head to listen to the faint streams of hyms flowing from the building.

They sang of mercy and love and yet there was almost none to be found. None of these good church going people would dare stand up to someone as menacing as Frollo should he threaten another mass killing.

There would be no justice found here.

The bells were winding down but their harmonious clamor burst through his morbid thoughts. He squinted up at the cathedral, searching for the source of the noise.

They were hidden from view, resting high above the city and nestled in the cathedral's upper levels. What it must be like to ring them... To direct and guide the people. To shout your presence.

He had a sudden burning desire to see the bells for himself. He leapt down from the tree and ran to the side of the cathedral. The thought of trying to access the bells from the inside of the building never even crossed his mind. He wanted to climb. He wanted to relish in the burning fire in his muscles and the trembling in his fingers.

Blurry pictures of his parents face's swam in his mind as he climbed. Marleen had tried to draw them for him but she had no great skill as an artist.

He climbed higher and higher. His fingers and forearms began to ache with exhaustion. The facade of the building was incredibly smooth, far smoother than any boulder or rocks he had climbed in the mountains. His grip was perilous but he never stopped.

Heights held no fear for him so he hauled himself up onto a ledge, just feet below the roof and crouched next to a stone gargoyle to catch his breath. Its face was twisted in a forever grimace and he tried to mimic the look by sticking out his tongue and contorting his features.

A quiet laugh came floating down from above him and the noise caught him by surprise. It had been a woman's voice without a doubt.

He scanned the shadows, searching for perhaps a nun or a stray parishioner but could see no one and so, with one last grunt of exertion, he hauled himself over the wall and found the roof empty. There was no one there.

A frown pulled at his lips. He could feel someone watching him but after a moment he decided they meant no harm or they wouldn't have let him on the roof in the first place.

There was a small door set in the wall across from him and when he gave it a shove, it swung inward. He climbed down a rickety ladder and landed on a wooden floor. It was more akin to scaffolding as there were many gaps open to the floor below but he hardly noticed them as his gaze had landed on the bells.

Colossal, bronze and beautifully cast, there were more than he could have possibly imagined. Almost giddy with excitement, he ran to the biggest one he could find and ducked underneath it.

"Hello!" he called as he straightened up. The ferocity with which his voice bounced off the metal was painful but it only brought an exhilarated smile to his face and he shouted again, his laughter echoing through the bell.

There came the faint pattering of feet and Ezmere froze. So his mysterious companion was still there.

He bent out from under the bell and again searched for any sign of another person. He saw no one but now noticed another room beneath the bell scaffolding. He dropped down and squinted as his eyes adjusted to the semi darkness.

The room was filled with tables, each one bearing tiny wooden buildings and carvings. He turned a slow circle and saw it was a perfect replica of the Paris, from the roads and alleys, and the flowers in the window box of the bakery.

What delighted him most was the model of the wooden stage he had danced on the previous day. He crouched next to the wooden people and he smiled when he found a tiny replica of himself standing at the edge of the stage, tambourine in hand, staring down at a sneering Frollo. He'd never seen such woodwork. The artist had captured every inch of his face down to the part of his hair, the smirk on his lips and the scar that cut through one eyebrow from a knife fight several years ago.

"This is incredible work," he said to the darkness as he picked the wooden Ezmere up. "It would be an honor to meet the maker."

He heard nothing but very stifled breathing as the person tried to conceal themself.

Several seconds passed, then Ezmere shrugged and said, "Another time then."

He returned to the ladder that led to the bells, tiny Ezmere still in hand, and climbed out of the room as if he was leaving. He then concealed himself behind a beam and stared down into the room, waiting for a glimpse of the phantom.

Someone rushed out of the shadows to the wooden figures with a cry of despair.

Ezmere whipped back behind the pole, his mouth suddenly dry as he caught sight of the woman. He could hear his heart hammering in his chest, the sound betraying how much her appearance had alarmed him.

She was very short with a shock of wild copper hair and she stood hunched over with a massive hump deforming her back. Her skin was pale and one eye was covered by a bump on her face that pushed her eyelid almost completely shut, but now both were closed as tears began falling down her face at the loss of her creation.

Ezmere was glad he was hidden. He wouldn't have wanted her to see his expression in those first few seconds. Taking a moment to steady himself, he peered at her again and now that he knew what to expect, he decided she seemed harmless even if her arms were thick enough to snap his neck. He wanted to meet her.

He dropped silently back into the room then stepped towards her. "Don't cry, he's returned to you," he said, holding the carving out to her.

She started at the sound of his voice and scurried back into the shadows.

"I didn't mean to make you cry," Ezmere said, peering this way and that, trying to find her. "I only wanted to meet you."

He set the wooden boy back down on the stage and moved some of the other gypsies to his side. "Did you like our dancing? Is that why you made this scene?"

There came a sound like she wanted to answer but had then clamped her hands over her mouth at the last second.

"I'll dance again, if you'd like."

Silence.

First his feet moved, then his legs, then his hands and he began to dance for her in a blaze of leaps and spins, all the while watching the shadows. The many bracelets he wore jingled and the bell round his ankle chimed with every step.

He soon sensed she wouldn't emerge with him watching for her so he closed his eyes and surrendered to the dance, letting his feet take him wherever they wanted. He could hear the music in his mind and he hummed as he moved, hoping she would hear.

The dance was not as salacious as he might have made it for a different crowd, but it was full of the energy and excitement which made him never want to stop.

He didn't know how long he danced but as when he began to tire, he cracked an eye open and smiled inwardly. He had drawn her from the shadows.

She was staring at him in a mixture of awe and fear, neither of which diminished when he asked, "Dance with me?"

She tried to back away but he stepped forward and took her hand in his own. It was almost twice the size of his .

"N-no," she stuttered but he smiled again and lead her into the center of the room. "I can't," she whispered, her voice heavy with embarrassment although she never took her eyes off him. It was as if she felt if he might vanish if she looked away for even a second.

He clicked his tongue. "Nonsense. Everyone can dance. We will go slow."

He raised her arm and motioned for her to spin. She shook her head but he wouldn't take no for an answer and carefully guided her through a twirl. "There! See how easy that was?"

A blush crept onto her cheeks and a smile of her own began to tug at her lips.

"Again?" Ezmere asked.

She was much quicker this time and he realized she was nimbler than her appearance suggested.

"Beautiful!" he praised, earning his first true smile from her although she ducked her head to hide it. He spun her a few more times then began guiding her through a slow, formal dance that moved in a square.

He studied her curiously, noting the blush still on her cheeks and the way her eyes kept darting up from her feet to stare at him. "What's your name?"

"Quasimodo," she said so quietly he almost didn't hear her.

"Quasimodo..." Ezmere repeated. Half formed. It was a cruel name, so blatantly calling out her deformity. "Who decided to call you that? Your father?"

"No. Not my father."

She clamped up about her name sake and refused to speak of it anymore.

Ezmere didn't want to press her. He actually thought she was handling his random appearance very well.

"I'm Ezmere," he said.

"I know."

He didn't ask how.

After half an hour, she had mastered the steps and he could tell she felt comfortable around him. Her cheeks burned with a rosy glow of pride as they completed the box step in perfect sync, the smile never leaving her face.

"Thank you," she said shyly.

He dropped her hands and gave her a gallant bow. "What are friends for?"

She giggled and ran to her carvings, her short legs moving with a somewhat awkward gait. She scooped up the tiny Ezmere and pressing it into his hands. "Keep it. I'll make another."

Ezmere struck the same pose as the carving and she laughed but then she asked, "Why did you come up here, Ezmere?"

Why had he gone to the tower? He'd been so distracted he'd almost forgot. "I wanted to ring the bells."

"What? Why?"

It seemed foolish now. "I'm not sure," he said with a slight shake of his head. He looked at them now and smiled slightly. The sunlight bounced off their metal surfaces, making them look like they'd been dipped in gold. They were still and serene, their city blundering about far below, never doubting that they would ring.

"They just make me feel…"

Quasimodo stared with him, longing etched on both their faces. "Free."

Ezmere took a deep breath and nodded. "Yes."

She hobbled to the bells and stared out at the sun. "It's too early now but if you wait with me a few hours, you can ring for sunset."

"Really?" he asked in surprise.

She nodded her approval and raced up the scaffolding to the bells. "Follow me, I'll introduce you!"

Ezmere scrambled to keep up.

"That's little Sophia," Quasimodo said gesturing to the bell across from her. "And Jean Marie, Anne Marie, Louise Marie! Triplets, you know."

Ezmere shook his head in awe as she flew from rafter to rafter, her feet never touching the ground. She was in no way restrained by her hunched body, but used her muscular arms and legs to leap from one bell to the other.

"Who's this?" Ezmere asked, tapping a hand on the largest bell and the one he had gone underneath earlier.

Quasimodo dropped to the ground next to him. "Big Marie."

Ezmere grinned at the massive bell. "Can I ring her at sunset?"

"Yes," Quasimodo answered, eager to please. "Come on, we can wait up here."

She ran to the ladder that lead to the roof and Ezmere followed, his excitement building once more.

On his way up the cathedral, he hadn't stopped to take in the view but now he let out a breath at the sight of the sparkling river and the pink and gold clouds.

"I bet the King himself doesn't have a view like this... I could stay up here forever," he said, hungry to take it all in. The air smelled clean and fresh. He sighed peacefully.

"You could, you know," Quasimodo said, now dangling off the railing and using her arms to stay up.

Ezmere smiled gently, sensing her desperation for companionship. "Gypsies don't do well behind stone walls." He turned his back on the impressive view. "I have to have dirt under my feet or I'll loose my mind. This city, it's beautiful but there's not enough of the earth."

She made a small noise and hauled herself back over the railing so she could sit down. "You'd have to leave Paris for that."

"Yes."

"Will you?"

He heard a tinge of worry in her voice and he said, "Not yet."

She seemed pleased with his answer and they sat together on the edge of the tower, their feet dangling down over the street below, both of them happy to wait for sunset.

Her red hair blew back and forth in the wind and he noticed her repeatedly shoving it out of her face in annoyance.

"Would you like me to braid it for you?"

Again she seemed taken aback that he was so willing to touch her.

"You don't have to."

"Nonsense, I love braiding."

Her hair was incredibly soft and he guessed that she brushed it obsessively, the one part of her deformed body that she could actually control.

"You have lovely hair," Ezmere said as he stood behind her to begin weaving the strands back and forth in a complicated plait.

He could practically feel her smile and he was pleased to be able to help her in some small way. Her hair truly was beautiful, the way it gleamed in the sunlight. He'd almost forgotten up until that point that she'd even had the hump pushing down on her back until he was staring directly at it.

Quasimdo started humming as he worked and he recognized it as the song he and the other gypsies had danced to on the stage.

"You're a wonderful dancer," she said shyly.

"Thank you," Ezmere said with a laugh. "But if I could carve like you can, you wouldn't see me dancing on the street for coins."

"Oh but you can't stop! You're so beautiful and-" she trailed off in embarrassment.

Ezmere suddenly felt a great rush of affection for the small girl. It was odd, he'd not known her for long but somehow he already felt she needed to be protected.

"I think you're beautiful, too."

"Don't," she muttered. Her thick fingers flicked a piece of gravel off the tower. "I know I'm not."

Ezmere's heart constricted painfully and he wondered who had been the one to make her feel so worthless. He stopped braiding and crouched down next to her so they were at eye level.

"You may not have the kind of beauty the world has come to expect, but maybe that's for the better. We all have a terrible habit of destroying what we find beautiful. But you have love in your heart and kindness in your eyes. I think that's worth more than a pretty face."

Tears sparkled in Quasimodo's brown eyes and began blinking rapidly to hold them back. She folded her hands in her lap and stared silently at the ground far below her.

"And you have this lion's mane," Ezmere said as he returned to her hair. "I could sell a single strand for a fortune. I would tell people I stole it from a copper lion I fought in the mountains."

She laughed again, the sound scaring a nearby pigeon and they watched it fly out over the river.

The hours began to pass. Ezmere learned that she had a thirst for knowledge like no one he had ever known and questions began flowing from her mouth so rapidly that he had a hard time keeping up.

They talked about the ocean, the mountains, France's neighboring countries and much of his life as a gypsy. She was very happy to listen and Ezmere obliged her with as much information as he could give.

"Have you ever left the cathedral?" he asked after describing the Alps to her.

"Yes," she said hesitantly. "But it didn't end well. It was the Festival of Fools. I… I thought I would be able to blend in."

"What happened?"

Her voice dropped to hardly a whisper and her head bowed in shame. "They beat me. They tied me down and threw fruit at me, all of them jeering and shouting… I thought my Master would save me but he just watched."

Ezmere grit his teeth at the thought of people being so cruel but it didn't surprise him. The world was a dark place. "Who's your master? Why wouldn't he help you?"

Quasimodo's expression dulled and she recited, "Because he wanted me to learn my lesson. Because I'm a monster and I need to stay up here, where I'm safe."

"You're not a monster! You could come live with me and my people! We'd never let anyone hurt you!"

"But there were gypsies in the crowd! They stood by and watched just like everyone else."

Ezmere began pacing but she reached out and grabbed his hand. "But you're not like the other gypsies. They're evil."

"Who told you that?" Ezmere asked, looking at her in confusion.

"My Master, Frollo."

Ezmere's eyes went wide and he unconsciously took a step back. "Frollo? He's your master?"

"Yes."

She said it so matter of factly that Ezmere shook his head in horror. "But he's so cruel!"

"He's not cruel!" Quasimodo argued, her voice rising in pitch. "He saved my life! He took me in when no one else would! He's given me food, clothing, a place to live!"

"And he told you that you're a monster!" Ezmere cried. "You have to get away!"

"No," she muttered, her small head shaking back and forth. "I won't leave him."

Ezmere's mind was racing and he bit his tongue to keep his anger contained.

Quasimodo was clearly uncomfortable with his reaction so she leapt off the ledge and grabbed his arm. "Let's ring the bells now. It's a few minutes early but no one will mind!"

Ezmere let her tug him down the ladder but his thoughts were still with Frollo.

"Here! Like this!" Quasimodo shouted as she grabbed hold of a rope and began tugging. There were several bells stacked one on top of the other and they all began swaying back and forth, a bright, clear ringing bursting forth.

"You try!" And she shoved the rope into his hand.

"I don't-

"No, come on! You have too!" she called almost desperately, leaping to the other bells.

Ezmere tugged on the rope half-heartedly. He felt her situation was more urgent that she wanted to admit.

"And here! Ring Big Marie!"

He had to admit, she was good at distracting him and he desperately wanted to ring that bell. Marleen had told him that he was very susceptible to distractions as a child, something he supposed had stuck in his adult mind.

He approached Big Marie warily. "I'll ring it, but you have to talk with me more once it's done. You shouldn't be with Frollo."

"Yes, yes," she said with a casual wave of her hand.

He pursed his lips but then took the rope from her. It was really more of a chain. He supposed a rope would have been too weak for a behemoth such as Big Marie. Quasimodo jumped through the rafters and down to her room.

"Come down, you have to pull from here."

Ezmere did as she said, then wrapped his arms around the chain and pulled with all his might. The bell didn't move.

He tried again and got it to swing an inch to the right. "What?" he panted. "Why can't I ring it?"

"You just have to try harder," Quasimodo insisted. She was watching him expectantly, a smile on her face. "Try again!"

Ezmere narrowed his eyes at the bell and muttered, "Right..." This time he changed his approach. He jumped as high as he could and pulled the chain down with him, his body weight doing what his arms couldn't.

There came an earsplitting clang and Quasimodo cheered as the bell began reluctantly swinging back and forth, the pendulum slamming into the sides.

Ezmere laughed in exhilaration as he pulled on the chain again and the sound rang out over the city. "Yes!" he yelled, and he crowed in victory. The sound rattling through his chest was invigorating.

Quasimodo took hold of the rope with him and together they rang the bell until they collapsed with exertion, both of them panting hard but smiling in victory.

Ezmere flopped onto the ground to catch his breath. "How do you do that so many times a day? I only rang it once and its killed me!" he complained dramatically.

"I'm stronger than you," Quasimodo said, beaming with pride.

"I guess so," Ezmere wheezed and he stifled a groan at the thought of how sore his arms would be the following day. He was well muscled but that bell required more strength than he had.

"You can come back and do it again in the morning if you want. We can-" But Quasimodo's sentence was cut short as she whipped her head towards the door. There came the sharp sounds of someone stomping up the steps and she turned ghostly white. "Hide!" she said urgently, pulling Ezmere up and shoving him behind a thick, wooden beam.

"Who is it? Is it Frollo?" Ezmere asked, but she didn't respond and ran back to the center of the room just as the door swung open and Frollo marched inside.

Ezmere went cold at the sight of him.

Dressed in his usual black robes and wearing the air of someone who knows they are better than the rest, he glared down his long nose at Quasimodo.

"Would you care to tell me what just happened up here?" he asked, his voice quiet and deadly.

"I- I was ringing the bells."

"Yes," he breathed. "Yes, you certainly rang the bells. Do you have any idea why I am upset?"

She seemed to shrink in size as Frollo approached. "I was too early… And I got carried away."

"Carried away," Frollo scoffed. "You of all people should know the proper order and the amount of rings per bell or is that too much to keep in your head?"

"I'm sorry, Master…"

"You humiliated me!" he barked, throwing his long arms up in the air. "I would like to see you attempt to lead a prayer at mass only to be interrupted every word by a bell that's not even supposed to be ringing yet! You fool!" He threw down one hand and struck her across the face.

The sound of the slap made Ezmere ball his hands into fists and he sprang out from behind the post.

"Don't touch her!" he shouted as he knocked Frollo to the ground and began punching him in the face. He would never have stopped had Quasimodo not galloped forward and pulled him away.

"No! No, don't Ezmere! Don't!"

Frollo had recovered from his initial shock and he pushed himself up, his dark eyes locking onto Ezmere. "You…" he hissed.

Ezmere tore himself from Quasmodo's grip and ran again at Frollo only to have her plant herself in his way. "Please don't!"

A drop of blood fell from Frollo's nose and he stared at it, aghast. "What. Is. He. Doing. Here?"

"Master, please, I didn't mean any harm!" Quasimodo groveled.

"Silence, Quasimodo! You have betrayed me in the most grievous manner!"

Ezmere lunged at the man yet again but Quasimodo pushed him away. She underestimated her strength, however, and he went flying through the air.

His head struck the wooden post with a resounding crack and he fell to the ground in a motionless heap.

For a moment everything went black. There was a terrible ringing in Ezmere's ears but when he cracked an eye open, no bells were moving. He saw that Quasimodo was staring at him, her mouth hanging open, clearly horrified at what she had done.

Dark boots entered Ezmere's field of vision and he rolled over to see Frollo towering above him. He said something which Ezmere couldn't hear then his hands swooped down and he grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, dragging him upright.

The ground pitched and rolled beneath him as Frollo pulled him to the door and he thought he might be sick. He tried in vain to loosen Frollo's grip but his head throbbed horribly, almost pushing him to unconsciousness, and his hands fell to his side.

"Quasi…" he whispered as they passed her. She was frozen in terror but her hand reached out to brush against his.

As soon as they were clear of the room, Frollo threw him down and his hands flew to lock Quasimodo in. Ezmere could now hear her howling and pounding her massive fists on the door.

It took Frollo several minutes to win the fight, giving Ezmere enough time for his fuzzy vision to somewhat clear and he pushed himself up on shaking legs, using the stair railing to stay upright.

Frollo gave a cry of victory as he slammed the lock into place then he rounded on Ezmere.

His head still spinning, Ezmere couldn't fight as Frollo pinned one arm behind his back and grasped the other in an iron grip. He groaned as his head was wracked by another wave of pain.

"Don't," he choked out as Frollo pulled him back against him.

Frollo jutted his head forward and placed his nose on Ezmere's neck. He took a deep, longing inhale.

"What are you doing?" Ezmere cried in disgust. "Let go of me!" He slammed his head back into Frollo's face.

Both of them screamed at their sudden bursts of pain and Frollo's grip loosened. Ezmere backed away from him but his feet tangled together and he fell down the flight of stairs. As he slammed onto the stone floor, he felt several things break.

He tasted blood in his mouth and he tried to push himself up on shaking arms but Frollo flew down the steps like a great, dark bat and stomped his boot down on Ezmere's neck, pinning him in place.

"What have you done to me, you filthy gypsy?!" he howled.

Ezmere grabbed hold of Frollo's foot and twisted so he fell into the wall then he took a gasping breath and scrambled to his feet.

Frollo was slower to get up but his eyes blazed with hatred and something else that made Ezmere more afraid than he had ever been in his life.

Frollo's gaze roved over his body, starting at his bare feet then up his legs and chest. A vein in his neck twitched as their eyes met."You'd best run, boy."

Ezmere didn't need to be told twice. He spun on his heel and ran from the devil in the church.

He went crashing through the crowds, ignoring their startled shouts. He knew he had to beat Frollo to the exit. They couldn't kill him in the church but if he didn't get outside first then he'd be trapped with guards on the outside and Frollo on the inside.

Fear made his blood run cold and that fear was what enabled him to forget his injuries and run as he never had before in his life. He didn't stop when he reached the doors, but burst outside and veered down the nearest alley way.

He darted behind a pile of boxes and fell to his knees to catch his breath. He was trembling from head to toe and his head ached as if someone was driving a nail into his skull. When he probed the throbbing wound on his scalp, his hands came away stained scarlet with blood.

He looked back at the cathedral and saw the small, dark shape of Quasimodo watching from above. She didn't move and neither did he, both of them staring at each other in despair, then Frollo came charging out of the church and Ezmere began running again.

Blood started gushing down into his eyes and he wiped it away with shaking fingers.

He didn't know where he was.

Buildings loomed up on either side of him, blocking his sight and a groan escaped his lips as he stumbled blindly onwards. Fortunately, his sense of direction was better than he gave himself credit for and after several long and painful minutes he found himself at the edge of the gypsy camp.

There were startled gasps at his bedraggled appearance and people were at his side in an instant.

"Get Marleen!"

"Bring him here!"

Darkness began eating away at his vision. The last thing he was aware of was a glimpse of Marleen, her face white with alarm then his head fell forward and he remembered nothing more.


	4. Chapter 4

"You are a monster."

"I am a monster."

"And you are ugly."

"And I am ugly."

Frollo steepled his fingers and evaluated Quasimodo. She sat on the steps of her room, her head bowed low in shame.

"Look at me, child," he said firmly.

She raised blood shot eyes to meet his.

"If you ever needed proof that you are meant to be locked away, let this be a lesson to you. You practically killed the boy… I wouldn't be surprised if he's lying dead in the street at this very moment."

Tears rolled down Quasimodo's face. She made no move to wipe them away.

Frollo sighed and came to her side. "Don't feel too badly," he said as he took a handkerchief from his robes and dabbed at the tears. "You made the right decision, my dear. I am your only friend. I am your protector. You couldn't let that savage hurt me."

Still she was silent.

"I don't blame you for letting the boy in. He tricked you. I know all too well the curse those filthy vermin cast. Especially Ezmere…" He said the name as if it was a terrible disease or some rabid animal, making his dislike clear in no uncertain terms. "Now turn around and let me take his braids from your hair."

She nodded miserably and turned, wincing every so often as he yanked on her hair.

Frollo couldn't help but notice the skill of Ezmere's fingers as he unwound the braids. He also found it very disconcerting that the boy was so willing to touch and interact with her. Was this their first encounter?

"What exactly did the two of you do, besides ringing the bells?" he asked, trying to conceal his interest behind a thick layer of condescension.

"We didn't do anything," she whispered. "We talked and... he danced for me."

Frollo's hands slipped and he accidentally ripped out several strands of her hair. "He danced for you?"

"Yes…"

He swallowed hard and cleared his throat before saying in his most disapproving voice, "I see."

"He didn't mean anything by it," Quasimodo said emptily. She had hardly moved a muscle since Frollo had come to see her. He'd thought the night would give her time to understand her wrongdoings.

"Perhaps not but I hope you will never make the same mistake again. Gypsies are not to be trusted. See how he used you to get to me? That rat has had it out for me since the day we met." He stood and straightened his robes. "Still, I suppose you saved me the trouble of a formal execution."

He turned his back on her quiet weeping and strode to the door. "You are safe here, Quasimodo. You must never leave."

"I know."

Pleased, he stepped out of the room and locked the door behind him. He was taking no chances.

The stair case was covered in a trail of dried blood from Ezmere's fall but Frollo paid it no mind. In fact, he intended to let it stain; a morbid reminder should Quasimodo ever attempt to leave.

Jackson was waiting for him at the bottom of the steps.

"I trust you have news," Frollo said as they began walking together.

"I followed the boy like you asked. He looked half dead by the time he made it back to the camp but then his people came to his aide. They took him to a tent with two women. The older one, I did not know but the younger is a prostitute for those men low enough to purchase a gypsy whore. I've seen her around."

Frollo looked heavenward, praying for patience to deal with the sin-ridden men who surrounded him. "I'm sure you have."

Jackson's ears began to burn red.

"Now, Captain, I'm certain you've seen the small pond that the gypsies fashioned in their camp. It's the cleanest water in the city."

"I know of it."

"Perfect. I want you to destroy it."

Jackson paused in surprise and he had to jog to catch back up. "Destroy it? There'll be riot on our hands!"

"Arrest anyone who tries to intervene, make sure the girl is among them, then bring her to me."

"My Lord, if it's the girl you want then why not just pay for her? After all she is… for sale…"

Frollo made a noise of disgust. "She's a whore! I want no record that I, a Minister of Justice, paid to have a gypsy trollop brought to me or that I sought her out for any unusual reason!" He took a deep breath in a strained attempt at calming down, then continued, "No, I will have a perfectly reasonable explanation for seeking her out and you will be discreet, regardless, Captain."

"Of course, My Lord." Jackson bowed low then left to begin enacting Frollo's orders.

Frollo watched him go, pleased with the man's performance as Captain so far. He was certainly better than the gypsy sympathizer he'd had before. He struggled now to remember the man's name. Pheobus or some like. It hardly mattered now, the man was long dead.

His carriage was waiting for him when he left Notre Dame and he rode in silence to his home.

It was a tall and imposing building, much like the man himself although he'd never noticed the similarities. He'd purchased the property for its closeness to the cathedral and had ordered the construction of a manor home that would suit a man of his status. No expenses had been spared. A life size statue of Ave Maria stood to the right of the wooden double doors.

Great, fat drops of rain fell from the now thundering sky but still he paused to cross his heart and murmur a quick prayer to Blessed Maria before going inside. He lived alone but for three servants and a cook, each of whom he'd plucked from the squalor on streets. It not only made him look godly by providing aide to the poor but that was how he preferred his servants, completely devoted and utterly in his debt. As soon as he stepped through the door, someone was there to take his cloak.

"Thank you, Gabrielle," he said. "Inform the cook that I will take dinner in my room this evening. You all may be relieved early today. I only ask that you stay downstairs. I do not wish to be disturbed during my nightly prayers."

Gabrielle gave him a quick curtsy. "Oui Monsieur. I'll bring your meal up."

As soon as she scurried away, Frollo ascended the steps that lead to the upper levels.

Thick, crimson rugs covered the floor but they were the only adornment in the hall, aside from the wooden crucifixes which hung between the iron wrought windows.

His room was much of the same with white walls and wooden furniture. The only thing he'd allowed himself to splurge upon had been the bed. It was a magnificent, four poster, mahogany bed with maroon curtains hanging from the poles and a detailed carving of Christ on the cross on the headboard.

To anyone other than Frollo, the bed was more terrifying than elegant. It looked like a place where a monster would live, emerging only to devour his victims, but to Frollo it was the epitome of class. A writing desk sat next to a humble bookshelf and on the desk rested the black and maroon tricorn hat that he'd worn to watch the gypsies dance.

After Ezmere had worn it, Frollo had thrown it into his crackling mantle place only to snatch it back out. Now it sat innocently on the desk, taunting him. A silent testament to his humiliation.

He sat on the edge of the bed and glared at it. This carried on for several minutes until he finally could no longer stand it. Surging up from the bed, he grabbed it, intending to burn it once more but his fingers refused to drop it into the flames.

He threw it across the room in disgust. He could see Ezmere wearing the hat as clearly as if he was he was standing before him.

"Why?" he groaned. "Why is this happening to me?" He fell to his knees and began sending up avid prayers that Ezmere would be punished for his sins and for the curse he had cast over such a pure heart.

The thought of the boy being consumed by hell fire calmed his pounding heart and he was able to compose himself just as Claudette arrived with his food.

He thanked her for the meal then sent her away with a reminder to say her prayers and to stay below until morning.

The roast venison and fresh bread held little appeal as his mind was primarily focused on his upcoming guest. He wasn't entirely sure of his reasoning for bringing the girl to the house but he trusted the Saints would make his path clear once she arrived. Jackson was to bring her in through the backdoor then straight to his room.

Once he'd eaten, he retired to his reading chair and pulled a battered book of scripture from the shelf. It was a book he'd read countless times and yet tonight, it was a struggle to make it past the first page. His gaze kept slipping back to that damned hat…

Below the brim he could see Ezmere's eyes burning like emerald fire and a smirk like the Norse God of Mischeif, Loki.

Frollo snorted at the thought. Norse Gods. Ridiculous. No, he shifted in his seat and returned his attention to the book.

Still his mind continued to wander.

Ezmere had danced for Quasimodo. Why? What had it looked like? Had she even appreciated the wonder of him dancing solely for her pleasure?

Frollo's breathing began to pick up speed and he tugged at the tightness of his collar. Ezmere wouldn't stop dancing. Frollo saw him in the flames, in the rain pittering on the window and in the darkness behind his closed lids. He wouldn't stop!

Frollo leapt to his feet and threw the book into the wall with a terrible roar. "GET OUT OF MY HEAD!"

He kicked the desk so violently it rocked on its wooden legs.

"My Lord, are you alright?" came Jackson's voice.

Frollo cursed his timing. "Yes. Bring her in."

Jackson came into the room, a struggling woman in tow. Her hands were bound and a dark hood was over her head.

Frollo tossed a coin to Jackson. "You may go. Help yourself to anything in my kitchen on your way out."

Jackson bowed and left the room, leaving Frollo and the gypsy alone.

She had frozen at the sound of his voice and Frollo took advantage of her stillness to remove the sack from her head and the gag from her mouth.

"I'm sure this must be very confusing," he said as he withdrew a dagger and cut away the ropes on her wrists. "Not knowing where you are or who I am."

She stuck out her chin in defiance. "We're in the last house on the southern end of the Rue de Rivoli, across the Siene and only a few minute's walk from Notre Dame. Your man was foolish to think mere blindness would stop a gypsy from knowing her city."

Frollo was impressed in spite of himself. "This is hardly your city."

"And as for you," she spat as if he hadn't spoken, "your reputation precedes you. I know you are behind Ezmere's injuries! How strange it must be to be hailed as a Justice when you don't even know the meaning of the word!" Her voice had risen to a shriek and she stood, her chest heaving, waiting for his reaction.

Frollo allowed himself one thin smile which did not reach his eyes. He could see why Ezmere was drawn to her. Her fire matched his own.

"Please sit. I'd offer you a chair but based on your profession, I'm sure you'd be more comfortable on the bed."

Her cheeks flushed scarlet but she did sit, if only for the pleasure getting her dirty clothes on his pristine blankets.

Frollo moved his own chair closer to the bed and sat down. "As for your accusation on behalf of your friend, you should know his injuries came at the hand of another. I was the one who saved him from the monster."

This was clearly new information to her so he pressed on. "I'm surprised you didn't know that. Did he not tell you what took place last night?"

A line appeared between her brows and she admitted in a stiff tone, "He has yet to wake. His injuries are severe."

As she spoke, her eyes began to glisten with unwitting tears Frollo took note of the paleness of her skin and how her voice was thick with exhaustion.

"You were with him through the night?"

She nodded.

"A pity… Still, he is young. I have no doubt that no matter how much I may wish otherwise, he will return to health." He steepled his fingers and leaned forward on the edge of his seat. "You have an advantage over me, my dear. You know my name but I do not know yours."

She studied him with distrust plain in her eyes, then said hesitantly, "Abella."

Now that they were moving away from the topic of Ezmere, she regained some of her earlier bravado.

"And now that we've exchanged pleasantries, I hope you'll tell me why I was brought here. I'm certain it wasn't just so you could inquire after Ezmere's health."

Actually, it was.

"Not his health, per say," Frollo said casually. "You see, I believe Ezmere is more dangerous than the average gypsy you have running around in your desolate camp. I do not want him causing any more trouble and so I wish to know more about him. Know your enemy and such on."

She glared at him.

"How long has he been in Paris?"

"Less than a year," she replied through gritted teeth.

"And what is the nature of your relationship with him?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"So I can pray for your filthy souls."

She gave a harsh laugh of anger and shot off the bed. "Our filthy souls?" she cried. "We may roll in the mud and fuck like the dogs you think we are, but at least we don't have the blood of an entire race on our hands!"

Frollo's own temper resurfaced and he took hold of the knife he'd used to cut her bonds and brandished at her. "Mind your tongue with me, you gypsy whore! I've been exceedingly kind with you up to this point but you try my patience."

"Exceedingly kind!?" she shrieked. "You destroyed my people's water! You kidnapped me and many of my friends and even now your men move through our camp destroying what they wish and you say you have been kind?" She grabbed a book from the shelf and threw it at him.

He dodged it easily.

"You and men like you are what is wrong with Paris! Not my people!" she screamed jabbing her finger in his face. The knife was at her throat but she didn't falter, not even when it drew blood. "You are afraid of Ezmere! You are afraid of what he will do to you when he wakes and mark my words he will wake!"

Frollo's normally cool eyes erupted with anger. "Let us hope." He shoved her into the wall and pinned her in place.

She kicked and scratched at him but he held her fast. Underneath his many layers of robes his body was taught and strong as a drawn bow and he was ready to snap.

"As you mentioned earlier, I have your friends in the city dungeon. If you try to run, I will execute them without a thought."

"I'll fight you!" Abella cried as he let go of her.

Frollo evaluated her with a cold glance. "Oh, I'd be disappointed if you didn't." Flashes of his brawl with Ezmere wormed his way into his mind but this time he wasn't upset to see the boy.

He let Abella come barreling into him and while her small frame not enough to knock him over, he appreciated that she tried.

She hadn't expected him to be so strong and so she adjusted her attack and grabbed a poker from the fire place, sending ash flying everywhere.

Several pieces hit Frollo in the face and he shouted as they burned his skin.

She kicked him in the chest, her skirts flying with the movement but Frollo reached out and grabbed hold of the fabric, using it to pull her off balance.

She stumbled into the desk and sent it on its side.

Frollo dropped her skirt to take a fistful of her hair. He started dragging her to the bed but she pulled a small knife from her corset and slashed upwards, severing his grip along with a chunk of her hair.

Hissing in annoyance, Frollo pried the knife from her hand and slammed her head twice against the bedpost. She cried out at the impact and Frollo took up the rope he'd so recently cut off her.

"Get on your knees!"

She was either too dazed to hear him or she was too stubborn because she did not move.

Frollo didn't care either way and he pulled her up so she was on her knees then tied her hands behind her back and to the bed post.

She whimpered, real fear now setting in, and she yanked uselessly against the ropes.

Frollo studied her, not sure what he wanted to do. He tapped a finger against his chin then a dark, revolting idea crept into his mind and he turned to find where his hat had ended up.

It was buried under a pile of papers and shattered ink bottles but remained, for the most part, intact.

He shoved the hat down over Abella's head, titling the brim down so he couldn't see anything but her lips. It was a close match but her hair was much too long and was full of light blonde streaks that Ezmere didn't have.

Knife still in hand, Frollo knelt and hacked at her hair until it sat just above her shoulders in a choppy mess of curls. Still Ezmere's was shorter but Frollo didn't care. He could no longer wait. The aching between his thighs was unbearable.

He shed his robes and sighed in relief as the pressure lessened only to be replaced by a mad, all consuming need. He was already so painfully hard. He ran a hand up and down the length of his shaft then ordered the girl, "Open your mouth."

Abella clamped her lips shut but then gave a muffled sob as he struck her. "Open your mouth," he repeated.

"No!"

He really didn't have time for this. He crouched and lifted the hat so he could see her face. Tears were falling thick and fast down her cheeks and she couldn't stop her chin from wobbling no matter how much she tried.

"You seem to have forgotten that I am in control," he said, placing the pad of his thumb on her lower lip. "I have people you care about. I will kill those people unless you give me what I want."

Panic flashed across her face and Frollo recoiled in disgust as she spit at him. "And you call yourself a man of God," she choked out.

He wiped the spit from his face and punched her hard in the stomach.

She fell forward, straining against the ropes and gave a breathless gasp of pain.

"No. Fools like the Archdeacon call themselves men of God. I am something else. Something more than them. The Blessed Ave Maria has shown me that this is the only way I will rid myself of the appalling curse you gypsies have cast." He stood again and shoved the hat back down over her face. "Now open your mouth."

She was crying earnestly now although she did her best to hide it. Frollo didn't wait for her to comply but shoved his entire length past her red lips and down her throat. She gagged but he grabbed her head and would not let her move.

"Oh, Blessed Maria," he moaned.

The sensation was exquisite. The way she tried to recoil only made him want her more. He began shoving himself in and out of her with ferocity, his face contorting in ecstasy whenever her teeth brushed against his skin.

"Yes… Yes…"

Her tongue accidentally brushed against the tip of his member and he doubled over as his sight flashed red and his body shuddered with delight.

He looked down and his vision blurred in a spiral of pleasure. He saw Ezmere. The hat, the dark hair, the copper skin. It wasn't hard at all to convince himself it was the boy.

"Ezmere," he groaned.

Abella reared back so violently that he came loose of her with a loud pop but he shoved himself back in before she could protest. His pumping came faster and faster until he finally came, shouting the boy's name, his fingers woven into Abella's hair.

She gagged as he emptied his load inside her mouth and only once every ounce of pleasure had been wrung from his body, did he pull out and collapse onto the bed in a state of weary bliss.

The girl was sobbing. He watched as she leaned over and vomited on his expensive rug but such was his euphoria that he didn't care. He untied her hands and threw a rag at her at her trembling frame.

"Clean yourself up."

He clothed himself once more and stood next to the window staring out at the city as the girl cleaned her face and mouth. That would be the end of it. His obsession would now be gone. "Thank you, Blessed Maria," he mouthed.

Abella was still crouched on the floor but in the reflection of the window he could see her glaring at him, her icy blue eyes glowing with hatred.

"You will tell no one of this," Frollo informed her, matter of factly. "As a notion to your fine service, I will set three prisoners free but the others will remain in my care. If you tell anyone, especially Ezmere, I will torture and kill each one of them. Maybe send them to hell a bit early. In fact I may extend that order to every gypsy in Paris. No one will be safe."

Abella's face was twitching as she struggled to restrain herself from attacking him.

"Or you can keep your mouth shut and everything will go on the way it always has. You gypsies, running around, fucking in the mud," he said, a glint in his eye. "And myself, praying for your damned souls."

Abella closed her eyes for several long minutes then she opened them again and said, "It's a good thing you're so familiar with the fires of hell as it's where you'll be spending the afterlife."

Frollo narrowed his eyes at her. "You may see yourself out."

She turned to leave and threw open the door. Frollo felt a smug pleasure in having the last word.

"Abella," Frollo called as she stomped down the stairs.

"What?" she asked rigidly.

"I may send for you tomorrow."


	5. Chapter 5

Ezmere stood at the gates of Heaven. The full splendor of a golden paradise was laid out before him, but he had eyes for nothing except two figures who stood on the other side of the gate. Although they were nothing but blurs of color, he knew they were his parents. He didn't know how he knew but he could feel it in his bones. He wanted to go to them but before he could step inside, Frollo appeared, blocking his way.

"My dear boy, where do you think you are going?"

Without taking his eyes off his parents, Ezmere tried to push past Frollo only to have him shove him back and slam the gates shut.

"You belong in hell."

And suddenly Ezmere was falling.

He fell through the clouds, through water and earth, only to land in a lake of burning fire.

Screams echoed through the cave. People were dying, people he loved. He recoiled in horror as skeletal hands grasped at his clothes, pulling him down with them. The flames began eating away at his skin, creating a pain so consuming that unearthly howls of agony began pouring from his mouth.

A demon grabbed his shoulders and began shaking him violently.

"Ezmere!"

"Let go!" he cried. "Leave me alone!"

The demon reared back a clawed hand and slapped him across the face but then it wasn't a demon, it was Marleen.

He blinked groggily several times and focused on the sound of falling rain and the smell of the wet earth. Marleen and several others were holding down his arms and legs.

"What happened?" he gasped. The adrenaline coursing through his body began to fade, leaving nothing but exhaustion and pain in its place.

His limbs were released and he sat up into Marleen's warm embrace. He clutched at her shirt with shaking fingers.

"It's alright, mon cheri," she crooned as she stroked his hair. "You're alright."

"What happened?" he asked again.

She sniffled and wiped at her eyes before pulling back and giving him a watery smile. "You were hurt very badly. You wouldn't wake."

Ezmere looked at his hands. He'd seen his flesh melt away. "I had a dream..."

Marleen pushed his hair off his face and began dabbing at his forehead with a wet cloth. "I'm afraid that was my fault. The herbs I gave you, they've been known to cause powerful visions but I had to break your fever. I'm sorry, cheri."

His shirt was gone and a dark salve had been slathered all over his chest. He became aware of a pounding in the back of his skull and he cautiously probed the swollen area, his fingers coming back covered in a green goop. He recognized it as a concoction Marleen made from ground moss. It was used to stop bleeding.

"Ezmere," she asked, her hands gripping his tightly, "Do you remember what happened? Before you fell unconscious, you kept saying Frollo's name. Did he attack you?"

Ezmere frowned and cast his mind back. He remembered spending some of day with Marleen and hearing the bells ringing but then his memories began to grow fuzzy. "I tried to climb the cathedral. I think he was there. I must have fallen…"

She inhaled sharply. "You tried to climb Notre Dame?!"

If he hadn't already suffered a grievous head wound, he thought she would have clobbered him herself. "You could have died! You could have broken your neck! It's a miracle you were even able to make it to camp! Ezmere, how could you be so reckless?"

Ezmere was only partially listening. There was something nagging him in the back of his mind, something he knew he was forgetting but he was saved the trouble of answering Marleen when Abella rushed into the tent, a breathless mess of anticipation.

"Is it true? He's awake?!"

Marleen moved back as Abella flew to Ezmere's side and began pressing frantic kisses on his cheek.

"It was Frollo who did this to you, wasn't it?" she asked as she took his face in her hands and examined several, deep cuts that marred his skin. One ran across the bridge of his nose and more adorned the right side of his face and neck.

Ezmere grabbed her hands to still their frantic movements and pressed a slow and soft kiss on her lips.

Marleen took that as her cue to leave. "I'll be back in a few minutes. Don't get carried away," she said pointedly. "He shouldn't be doing anything that gets him too excited."

Abella grinned against his lips and raised her hands so Marleen could see them. "We'll be good. I promise."

Marleen harrumphed and left the tent.

"Have I gone mad or did you loose about two feet of your hair?" Ezmere asked, running a hand through her new ruefully short haircut.

Something flashed in her eyes but it was gone too quickly for Ezmere to determine what it was. She pasted a smile on her face. "Well you did rattle your brain fairly hard but no, I… cut it."

He wove a short braid in to her hair then gave it a gentle tug. "It suits you."

They kissed again until Ezmere grew greedy and his lips began traveling down her neck.

"No Ez," she laughed, pushing him away. "Remember what Marleen said!"

He pulled her closer and said, "No, I can't remember anything. That's one of the advantages of getting hit on the head."

His excuse wasn't enough to persuade her, firm as she was in her desire to follow Marleen's rule. "Lie back you idiot. You're going to hurt yourself."

He let her fluff up his pillows then he lay down, pulling her with him and snuggled her close, his face buried in her hair and their legs tangled together.

Her fingers traced idle circles over his neck and through his hair. "You have no idea how worried I was. What happened? Was it Frollo?"

"I'm not sure. I think I fell off Notre Dame. Not from the top," he reassure her when her mouth fell open. "But I was climbing it, I think."

"Oh Ez…" she sighed.

He pulled a blanket between them so the salve on his chest wouldn't stain her dress. "It doesn't make sense though. I've climbed higher rocks higher than the cathedral before. I've never fallen."

"Maybe it wasn't your fault," Abella whispered. "Maybe someone made you fall."

She tensed in his arms and he got the feeling she knew more than she should. "What makes you say that?"

She shook her head. "I'm just worried. Frollo could have paid someone to hurt you." She suddenly shook off his embrace and pushed herself up on her elbows, her eyes boring into his. "You have to stay away from him, Ez. Do you understand? You have to."

"I understand," he said, caught off guard by her urgency. "But-"

Her hand shot out and she grabbed his chin, forcing him to look her in the eye. "No! He is an evil, depraved man! You have to stay away! Promise me you'll stay away from him!"

Her grip lessened and her hand slid down to rest over his heart. "Ezmere. Promise me."

Ezmere reached out and he brushed a tear from her face in confusion. He didn't think he'd ever seen her cry before. "I promise."

"Thank you," she said softly and she lay back down. "I'm so tired, Ez." Her voice broke and with it, Ezmere's heart.

"Stay with me tonight," he begged. "You don't have to go."

Her lips twitched into the smallest of smiles and she lay her head on his shoulder. "Fine, but you should know I charge by the hour."

She fell asleep almost instantly. Ezmere kissed her head then gave a deep sigh of relief before drifting off.

The next day ushered in a cloudless, blue sky and the fearful depression of the previous night seemed more like a dream.

Ezmere had hoped that a night of rest would bring the return of his memories but it was not so. He still found himself with no logical explanation for what had happened. He'd also hoped that he'd be allowed to return to life as normal only for that wish to be dashed as well.

Marleen was happy with his improvement but demanded that he stay in bed and even threatened to tie him down.

Abella took pity on him and spent much of the day by his side, leaving only to cook and clean. It seemed she had put her customers on hold and while Ezmere felt guilty that he was responsible for her lack of income, he was also unimaginably happy to have her all to himself.

She sat next to him now, mending a hole in one of her skirts and humming as she worked.

Ezmere's foot tapped the air to her tune then he slumped sideways with a groan. "I want to move. I've been laying here so long I can feel my bones turning into dough."

"Don't be so dramatic. It's only been a day."

"Two days," he corrected. "But I was asleep for one."

"You poor thing."

He ignored her dry tone and decided he'd had enough of the tent. He was going outside and he was taking her with him.

"Will you get me more soup?"

She seemed pleased at the return of his appetite and so she left with no question.

Pleased with himself, Ezmere tried to stand, but even that simple action turned out to be more of challenge than he'd anticipated. Several minutes later and with the help of the tent post and some heavy cursing, he managed it. How long he could stay up was a mystery but one he was willing to solve.

He wobbled out of the tent and ducked behind another just as Abella went back inside. "EZMERE!"

A crazed laugh fell from his lips and he scrambled through the camp, tripping over his own feet and doubled over with mirth as she thundered after him.

"Ezmere, I swear I will beat your ass with a stick!"

"Sounds wonderful!" he shouted. "I'm almost tempted to let you catch me!" He didn't stop but continued to weave his way like a drunkard between his friends who were watching with mild interest.

"You'd better run!" someone called. "When Marleen finds out she'll beat you with more than a stick! Bring the whole tree after you."

He would have run if he could but instead had to be content with his strange gallop. His destination wasn't far.

Abella was close behind him now and she called out to him again. "No, Ez don't!"

Something had changed in her voice but Ezmere pushed forward. He wanted to see the water. He came around the last tent in the way and stopped dead.

What had once been paradise on earth was destroyed beyond recognition. Gone was the pond with its shining water and mossy banks. Loads of dirt had been shoveled in, leaving the pond little more than a brown puddle. Heavy boot prints were splattered in the mud making a chaotic web of incrimination. It was the city guards who had done this.

Ezmere felt a bolt of physical pain shoot through his body at the sight of the muck and murky puddles. This had been the one spot in all of Paris where he felt any semblance of home. His mouth opened and closed several times before he was able to make a sound. "Frollo did this…"

Abella splashed through the mud then skidded to a halt at his side. "Yes."

"When?"

She passed him so she could dip her fingers in all that remained of the pond. "Last night. They arrested anyone who tried to stop it."

Ezmere couldn't look any longer. He turned around and had to sit down to keep his legs from giving out. The sheer man power it must have taken to fill in the hole was a mark to Frollo's hatred.

Ezmere's fingers began to twitch. "I'm going to kill him."

Abella looked at him over her shoulder and said, "Maybe, but not today. You need to recover."

He knew she was right but he hated it. A sour taste filled his mouth.

He looked at the camp in a new light and saw the empty tents, the nervous glances and the conversations being carried out in muffled whispers.

"This is my fault."

Abella gave the pond one last look then helped him stand. "No it isn't." Her arm wrapped around his waist, supporting him as they walked. "This battle started long before you came to Paris."

Ezmere shook his head. "But I made it worse."

"Yes," she admitted. "But sometimes things have to get worse before they can get better." She paused to brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead. "We have to believe they will get better."

And so it was a much more somber Ezmere who returned to the tent and sat in silence while Abella continued her sewing.

He stared straight ahead, his eyes focused on nothing as he tried for the hundredth time to remember what had happened to him. Had he done something that enraged Frollo to the point where he'd destroyed the pond?

Much to his dismay, the answers continued to elude him. He shifted his position as his feet began to go numb but then he hissed when something hard poked his leg. He moved again but it was still there, digging painfully into his thigh and so he groped around in his pocket for the source of the annoyance.

Several pieces came out in his hand and he blinked in surprise. It was a wooden miniature of himself.

There was a tiny gold tambourine attached to a now severed hand, his legs and torso and a floating head. It was unlike anything he'd ever seen before.

He frowned. But he had seen it before. He's seen an entire wooden city. He'd danced between the tables. Why had he danced?

And then all at once he remembered.

Dancing with Quasimodo, weaving plaits into her hair, red against the blue sky. She'd shown him the bells. Big Marie and the triplets. Then Frollo was there and he was glowering down at Quasimodo.

Ezmere's lips moved to match Frollo's. "You have betrayed me in the most grievous manner."

"What?" Abella asked.

Her voice pulled Ezmere from his memories and he turned to her in shock. "I remember what happened."

She set down her needle and accepted the wooden figurine when he offered it to her.

"I didn't fall."

Growing up listening to gypsy stories, one learned the importance of details and he didn't leave out a single one as he told Abella of Quasimodo, her room in Notre Dame, the bells and finally, Frollo.

When he spoke of Quasimodo throwing him into the post, she interrupted him. "Wait, it was the girl who harmed you? Not Frollo?"

"I don't think she meant to hurt me. She was just… scared."

She closed her eyes and put her fingers on her temples, trying to focus on Ezmere's story. "And Frollo, he saved you from her?"

"No!" Ezmere said vehemently. "He wanted to deal with me in private. I fell down the stairs trying to get away from him." He touched the side of his neck where Frollo's nose had been and felt a dull flush creep over his face. "This may sound mad but I think he…"

"He what?" Abella asked, her voice suddenly nervous.

Ezmere hesitated. He wasn't sure he wanted anyone to know. He wished he could forget it himself. "I think he was… When we were fighting, he grabbed me and pulled me against him. He's very strong for a man his age... And it was like he was trying to smell my neck or something. He- I don't know…" He trailed off in embarrassment. It sounded foolish when said aloud.

Abella had turned white as a sheet and he could see her pulse fluttering beneath the soft skin of her throat. "Don't think about it anymore, Ez," she said as she took his hand. "I'm sure it was nothing."

That idea was certainly preferable to the alternative.

They sat together for several hours but their solitude was interrupted by someone in search of Abella.

"What is it, Viggo?" she called. "I'm in here."

A small boy of ten entered the tent. He had olive skin, thick, brown hair and ruddy cheeks from his run though the camp in search of her.

"A man is asking for you, Bella," he panted. "Said he was to pick you up so you could be with his master."

"Tell him I'm not taking customers today."

Viggo shook his head. "He said to tell you his master will be exceedingly kind to you and it would be foolish of you to refuse such an offer."

She shrank back from the boy. "Where those his exact words? Exceedingly kind?" she asked.

"Yes," he answered, nodding his head several times.

"What's wrong?" Ezmere asked, noting the look on her face. "Do you want me to come with?"

"No!" she said quickly.

He couldn't help a lazy grin snaking over his face. "Hey, we've done it before."

She looked like she wanted to laugh but couldn't quite manage it. "No. Not today. Wait for me outside, Viggo."

The instant the boy left, she straddled Ezmere and pulled him close. Her kiss was full of love and passion but was so short that he hardly had time to react. "

I love you," she whispered, then she was gone, leaving nothing but cold air in her place.

Ezmere tucked a hand behind his head and stared at the tent flaps as if he could see past them to where Abella had gone. It must have been a very important customer for her to leave and yet she seemed afraid. He vowed he would find out more once she returned.

When she finally did return in the early morning hours, she wouldn't speak a word and when she crawled beneath the blanket with Ezmere, he could feel her shaking.

"I love you," she said over and over. "I love you so much, Ez."

"What did he do to you," Ezmere asked in alarm, his hands running over her face in search of injury. "What happened?"

Quiet sobs began to wrack her slim frame.

Panic blossomed in Ezmere's stomach. He'd never seen any man leave her like this. "Abella, tell me what happened."

She shook her head, a hand over her mouth to muffle her sobs.

Ezmere sat up and pulled her into his lap, his hands running through her hair. "I'm here. I have you. You're safe."

He whispered to her as tears dripped down her face. Ezmere cried with her. He'd never felt so helpless.

Eventually her crying faded and she only gave the occasional sniffle.

"Listen to me, Abella," Ezmere said, his voice cracking with furious emotion. "You will sleep now but in the morning I want a name. I want the name of the bastard who did this to you, do you understand?"

Her eyes were squeezed shut but she nodded against his chest.

"Alright. Good," he said shakily, more to reassure himself than her. "We'll talk in the morning."

But they never did. When the sun rose, she was gone.


	6. Chapter 6

"Marleen, where's Abella?" Ezmere asked. He'd been allowed to sit outside with her as she cooked but he had little enthusiasm for the sun or the breeze. All he could think about was the way Abella had trembled.

"I sent her into town to buy more herbs. We have to keep that headache of yours down."

Painful as the headache was, he would have gladly suffered for days if it meant he could have spoken to her again before she left. "Did she say anything?" he asked.

Marleen gave him a hard look over the potato she was peeling. "Yes."

He waited to see if she would elaborate and finally she did, although she seemed reluctant to do so. "Abella is going through something right now and she's going to need space. It doesn't mean she doesn't love you, she just needs a few days for herself."

Ezmere shook his head in anguish. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No, cheri. You did exactly what you were supposed to do. You held her and kissed her and gave her all of your love but now you must wait and trust that she knows what's best. She'll come back to you."

Ezmere ripped up a fistful of grass beneath his hand and squeezed it with bloodless knuckles. "I'll kill whoever did this to her."

Marleen threw a bit of potato skin at him. "Maybe that's why she didn't give you a name."

"She didn't give me a name because-"

"Because she's trying to protect you," she spoke over him. "And I can use all the help I can get when it comes to that."

She abandoned her cooking and sat next to him, her arms now full of bandages and a long, flat piece of wood.

"What are you doing?" Ezmere asked as she pushed the blanket of his legs.

"I'm hobbling you like a horse," she said, a dangerous smile on her face. "I told you to stay in the tent and still you got out and ran around the camp, giggling like an idiot."

"Not like an idiot!"

She raised an eyebrow and he glared at the ground. He did remember giggling like an idiot.

"And so now, I regret to inform you that I am splinting what at first I believed only to be a sprained ankle but now I must deem a fracture or even a break," she said as she lifted his swollen ankle and slid the wood underneath.

Ezmere winced as she began tying long strips of cloth around the purple and blue skin.

"You don't look like you're regretting it."

She smirked and tied the fabric in a tight knot making him twitch and swallow a curse.

"I might have broken it myself to keep you down," she said brusquely. "Your head is what we need to focus on and I won't have you running about while it heals. But how did you even stand on that foot? Didn't you feel the pain?"

He'd felt it but being the stubborn fool that he was, he had elected to ignore it.

Marleen rolled her eyes when he wouldn't answer and began trying to wrestle a sling around his right arm. It was a fight, but one that he lost. Another cloth came at his head.

"No, stop it!" he cried, raising his free hand to push it away. "Any more wrappings and you'll be burying me in an Egyptian tomb!"

"You should be so lucky," she grunted as she pushed him down and trapped his hand under her foot. "I'm tempted just to tie you up and throw you in the river!"

"Arrgh! No!" he complained as she succeeded in getting a bandage around his head. She looped the excess fabric a few more times then tied it off and stepped back to admire her work.

"Oh stop it," she chided, noting his glare. "Don't you pout just because I'm trying to help."

At that moment, several of Marleen's friends came by and their amused snickers and whispers did nothing to help the situation.

"Poor Ezmere," one sighed. "You look like a cross cat."

All the women laughed, including Marleen.

Ezmere crossed his arms as best he could with the sling and sulked until they left.

"You do look like a cat that's been given a bath, cheri," Marleen chuckled as she returned to her potatoes.

"I hate this," he said bluntly. "Sitting here, all tied up. I can't run, I can't dance, I can't do anything!"

"You'd best get used to it." She eyed his ankle and added, "You've got at least a month before you can walk on that."

"Oh what's the use?" He threw himself back onto his pillows and groaned, "I'll be dead by then."

Marleen leveled her knife at him. "Keep up this whining and you will be."

The days crawled by. Ezmere was beyond miserable but he did his best to hide it. Most of the time...

City guards began making surprise visits to the camp, sometimes twice a day. They destroyed whatever they wanted and they arrested whoever they wanted. Those were the times when Marleen hid Ezmere in her tent and begged him to stay silent. Once she drugged him so he couldn't fight while several of his friends were taken.

The days began to grow darker.

The only thing that cheered him up were the occasional visits he received from Abella. He saw her five days after the night that haunted his dreams. He thought she looked both thinner and paler although she denied both.

"Please stop. I'm fine," she insisted for the hundredth time. She was sitting across from him on a barrel, her hands resting on her knees.

"But you're not! I can see it in your eyes!" Ezmere said, gesturing at her face with his free arm. "Why won't you talk to me?"

She sat back and crossed her legs in front of her. "I'm fine."

Ezmere wished he could kick something. "Then what happened the other night? Were you fine when you were shaking so badly you couldn't move or crying so hard you couldn't speak? Were you fine then?"

"It was a moment of weakness, Ezmere," she said in a biting tone. "I swear it won't happen again. Does that make you happy?"

"Don't do that," he snapped. "Don't make me the villain!"

Abella pressed her lips into a tight line, then said coolly, "Well, I don't want you to be the hero."

Ezmere felt as if she'd slapped him. Neither of them said anything for several moments then Abella sighed and ran her hands down her face. "Listen Ez, I do love you and one day I swear I will tell you everything but it's not today and it won't be tomorrow. Just… Please, for the sake of my sanity, let it go."

Ezmere clenched his jaw and stared into the empty corner of the tent. He heard her rise to leave.

"I just want you to be safe."

She gave him a soft smile and pressed a kiss on the top of his head. "I know."

And she left, taking with her whatever small bit of happiness Ezmere had left.

He settled into a routine. Every morning, Marleen would bring him food and they would set off on a short walk around camp where he was completely reliant on the crutches she had fashioned for him out of tree branches. His afternoons were spent helping her with chores then it was back to the tent where he stayed silent to avoid the attention of the guards. More than once they had inquired about him but seeing him languishing in a tent, unable to even walk on his own, seemed to satisfy them. He wondered if they were reporting to Frollo.

Abella still came to visit him but their talks were strangely formal as if neither of them knew how to act around the other anymore.

"I'll be dancing with the others this afternoon," she told him tentatively, in the hopes of raising his spirits. "If you'd like, I'll ask Marleen if you can come watch."

"I would like that, thank you."

She gave him half a smile then left to find Marleen.

Ezmere groaned once he was alone. He didn't want to watch, he wanted to dance with them but he looked at his ankle, still discolored and swollen and knew he'd be lucky if he was even allowed to hobble all the way to the town square.

"Abella tells me they're dancing again," Marleen said when she came to give him his breakfast. "They're probably counting on you not being able to cause any trouble or they wouldn't risk it."

Ezmere stayed silent, hoping she would take pity on his poor, bored soul.

She passed him an apple and studied him over her own. "I know you're just bursting for me to say you can go."

"Please!" he said in a rush. "I won't try to dance, I swear! I'll just watch! I won't even speak!"

She laughed and reached out to lovingly stroke his cheek. "You've grown so much, mon cheri, but inside you're still the little boy who danced on the beach and ran in the waves..."

"I miss the water."

"So do I," she sighed. "I hadn't intended for us to stay here so long. I wanted to leave weeks ago but with your injuries... Oh well. The ocean isn't going anywhere."

They ate in content silence then she finally made her decision. "You may watch the dance but I'm going with you to be sure you mind your ankle and your tongue. What will you do if Frollo is there?"

He shrugged as he bit his apple. "He won't be. I'm sure he's got a full day of ripping the wings off butterflies..."

Marleen snorted and wiped her hands off on her skirt. "We'd best get you looking presentable. You'd frighten a few butterflies of your own in this state."

Once she had helped him wash his hair and face, they left the camp. She'd agreed that he could go without the bandage on his head for a few hours if he promised to behave but the crutch remained and so did so the sling.

Even those couldn't keep the smile from his face and he felt he was about to burst with excitement as he shuffled down the street.

Marleen helped him sit against the wall of a shop where they had a clear view of the dancing which had already started. Ezmere was forced to admire the beauty of it all, something he usually missed being right smack in the middle.

Abella was his favorite to look at and he wanted nothing more than to rush to her side and join in but he knew he had to be content to sit. And after a while, he was. The smile never left his face as he watched her dance and that combined with Marleen's company effectively lifted his spirits.

It was sometime in the seventh song when Marleen suddenly stiffened beside him.

Ezmere who had been tapping his uninjured foot to the beat, frowned at her then turned to see what had caught her attention.

A bitter taste filled his mouth as he watched Frollo and his personal guard come into the square. Frollo took in the dancers with a contemptuous expression and he seemed to linger on Abella, then his gaze lit on Ezmere and his face took on the look of a wolf who has just found its next meal.

"We need to leave," Marleen whispered, her voice strained with nerves. Ezmere nodded and grabbed for his crutch but Frollo's guard sprinted across the square and snatched it away.

Ezmere tried to lunge after it but Marleen's grip on his arm tightened like a vice and he heard her whisper in little more than a breath, "Ezmere... Don't..."

And so they sat still as stone as Frollo stalked through the crowd which parted for him like the red sea but once the people saw he was not focused on them, they relaxed and returned their attention to the gypsies.

The same could not be said for Ezmere who kept his gaze locked on Abella although he wasn't really seeing her anymore. He thought Marleen might have a stroke as Frollo came to a halt directly in front of them, his imposing figure casting a shadow over their faces.

"How odd to see you sitting still, boy," he said, his voice low with an air of quiet authority. "And yet perhaps you have finally come to your senses about what a filthy sin all that ungodly cavorting really is..."

Ezmere did not move a muscle. Marleen's nails were drawing blood.

"Or perhaps it is due to these terrible injuries you have suffered," Frollo continued. He lifted his boot and placed it on top of Ezmere's ankle, his dark robes hiding the cruel action from his parishioners. "I'd imagine only a monster would be capable of such violence."

Ezmere's eyes were watering both from Marleen's grip and Frollo's pressure on his broken ankle. He could practically feel Marleen screaming at him to stay silent but without taking his eyes from Abella, he said, "You're right. You are a monster."

Marleen let out a soft groan. Ezmere knew he was killing her but he was so furious that he had started shaking.

Frollo narrowed his eyes. "I could have you arrested on the spot. Would you enjoy hanging at sunrise?"

"Please no, Minister," Marleen said, breathless with fear. They were all aware it was not an idle threat. "He's just a boy. He doesn't know what he's saying!"

Frollo looked at her for the first time. "Who are you? The mother?"

"Yes," she nodded. "Please show mercy, I beg you. Ezmere will apologize!"

"I will n-" Ezmere started but Marleen grabbed him and clamped a hand over his mouth.

"He will apologize," she ground out, shaking him a little with every word.

Frollo raised an eyebrow and took his foot off Ezmere's ankle, waiting for Ezmere to choose.

Marleen took her hand from his mouth. "Ezmere, you _must."_

Ezmere glared at the ground. The weight of Frollo's stare was crippling. "I..."

Marleen nodded for him to continue. Ezmere could see that she was holding her breath.

"Enough of this," snapped Frollo, growing impatient. "Jackson, take the boy under arrest."

"No!" Marleen cried.

Jackson threw down Ezmere's crutch and grabbed his arm. Only then did Ezmere finally growl, "I'm sorry!"

Frollo held up a hand, stalling Jackson's movements and Ezmere ripped his arm from the man's grip. "I apologize for my words, Minister."

"Now that wasn't so hard, was it?" Frollo said in quiet amusement. The smug look in his eyes made Ezmere want to burst with loathing. He forced himself to give Frollo a smile that came out looking like a pained grimace.

Frollo chuckled and moved aside, revealing Abella who was standing frozen and observing the whole scene while white as a sheet.

Frollo stared at her for a moment, then he waved a dismissive hand and said, "Take him away. I will not be so merciful next time we meet."

Marleen let out a shuddering breath and thanked him several times. Frollo gave them all once last cold look then left. Jackson snapped Ezmere's crutch in half then followed his master.

"Come on, Ez," Marleen said as she took hold of his arm to help him up.

"Don't," he muttered, pulling away from her touch. His cheeks were burning red and he used a nearby barrel to haul himself up.

"Ez..." Abella said as she came to his side. "Are you alright?"

Without answering, he turned away from them both and began limping back to the camp, his hands clenched into fists and his eyes shooting daggers at anyone unfortunate enough to be in his path. He could hear Marleen and Abella's nervous whispering as they followed.

"He was going to arrest him," Marleen told Abella, her voice still heavy with nerves.

"And I would have gone gladly before apologizing to that bastard!" Ezmere shouted over his shoulder.

Marleen ran until she was in front of him and cried, "You would have been killed!"

"Do you think I care?" he yelled back. He stumbled and was forced to step on his injured foot to stay up right. He howled a curse and then punched a wooden post only leading to more cursing and gnashing of teeth.

Marleen had backed out of his path of self destruction but as he groaned and put his face in his hand, she came back to his side.

"I care!" she whispered as she pulled him into a hug. "You're my entire world, you ungrateful boy! I can't lose you. If apologizing to that old miser meant you avoided a rope around your neck..."

Ezmere stood stiffly as she hugged him, still too upset to return the sentiment. When she did not let go, eventually he calmed down enough to see the sense in her words.

He put his arm around her and looked up to find Abella only to see that she was gone. He sighed in frustration and let Marleen help him back to the camp and then to the tent where he felt he was doomed to spend the rest of his days.

For the first time in his life, he felt truly and completely empty. The sunrise brought him no joy as there was no promise of exploring the city or even feeling alive. Sunsets used to usher in nights of bliss with Abella. Now they were now a stark reminder of his loneliness.

He had lost his love, his city, his movement, his freedom.

His thoughts often wandered to Quasimodo and he wondered if this was how she felt all the time, trapped inside Notre Dame with no one to talk to but the stone gargoyles. He'd considered trying to write her a message but he had no one he could trust to take it to her and he didn't wish to risk getting her in any further trouble with Frollo.

Eventually, he was allowed to shed the sling, then the bandages around his head but the splint remained.

Days turned into weeks, and the weeks into a very long, and very painful month.

And so when Abella burst into the tent, Ezmere did not sit up, but continued counting of the rips in the canvas roof over his head. That was until she straddled him and began placing searing hot kisses on his neck and bare chest.

"Woah! What's going on? What's wrong?" he asked, grabbing her shoulders and pulling her up so he could examine her face.

"Nothing's wrong," she smiled as she kissed him again. Her eyes were blazing with an energy he hadn't seen for ages. It seemed too good to be true. "Marleen said I could take your splint off. We get to see how you do."

She was this happy because of his splint? He was bewildered but completely willing to go along with it as she ripped the bandages off and set aside the wood. There was no longer any bruising and he could flex the joint without pain, causing him to look hopefully at Abella.

"She really said I could go outside without her?"

"Yes, but you get me instead," she said as she pulled him upright.

He wobbled a bit as he walked, his legs weak from nonuse but he knew it was nothing exercise wouldn't mend. They ducked out of the tent and Abella pulled him along, chattering happily as they went.

Ezmere made it about five minutes before he had to kiss her again. He had to be sure he wasn't imagining everything. Maybe he had finally died of boredom and this was his heaven.

"In here," Abella said, motioning to the largest tent in the camp, one that was primarily used for meetings but now was empty. It had been fashioned from an unused circus tent someone had scrounged up and so alternating swatches of red and gold shone down on the pair as they ran inside.

"Someone could come in," Ezmere warned.

Abella began unbuttoning the tight vest she was wearing and asked, "Do you really care?"

A primal growl came from deep in his throat. "No."

The vest fell to the floor and all that stood between him and her bare skin was the thin white tunic she wore. He could see her breasts beneath the fabric and he swallowed hard, his need nearly driving him mad.

"If I promise to sew it back together, can I rip this off?" he asked, his fingers pinching the fabric of her shirt.

"Yes," she breathed and Ezmere smiled. He knew her need matched his own. Maybe her month had been as wretched as his.

In one brutal motion he ripped the shirt in a line down her back then yanked it off her arms. Her hands snaked around his neck and he held her close, relishing the feeling of skin on skin. Her hips began to swivel against his and he picked her up off the ground, her legs locking around his waist.

One tall pole stood in the middle of the tent, holding up the canvas and Ezmere pushed her against it. He wanted so badly to be inside of her.

He kissed her roughly, his tongue delving into her mouth and one hand laced in her hair, pulling hard on her braids.

She moaned and continued moving her hips, hoping he would succumb and thrust into her. It nearly worked. His vision went black and he had to stop kissing her and rest his forehead against the tent post until he could breathe again.

"You little minx," he muttered in her ear. "I know what you're doing."

She made an innocent, whimpering noise which alone almost pushed him over the edge but he covered her mouth with his own, cutting off any more noises.

Trusting the post and his legs to keep her upright, he placed his hands on her breasts and began rolling her nipples between his fingers. She bit down hard on his lower lip and he pinched harder.

"You shouldn't have made me wait so long for this," he said as he continued his torture. He bent to place a wet kiss on both breasts then blew on them, watching in satisfaction as they swelled and rose with her every breath.

"Oh, you bastard," she said, her voice strangled as his fingers went back to work.

Her name calling made him smile.

"But a perfect bastard, right?" He thrust his hips through the fabric of their clothes and she threw her head back and cried out.

Ezmere gave her no time to relax but carried her to a faded rug and set her down.

"Get on your hands and knees," he ordered, his voice low and husky with desire.

She did as he said, panting hard as if she'd just ran a marathon.

Ezmere noted that she was wearing pants. It was an odd choice for her but he loved the way they clung to her legs. Soon the pants were on the ground next to her and Ezmere's soon followed.

He positioned himself behind her. He trailed his fingers along her spine, making her shiver in anticipation. "What should I do to you, Abella?"

"If you keep teasing me, I'll re-break your foot," she groaned.

He grabbed a handful of her hair and held her so that she could not move. His hand snaked around her waist, down between her legs, and he began rubbing deliciously slow circles. "I said, what should I do to you?"

She was trembling now and he knew she wouldn't last much longer. "Damn it, Ez. You have a control problem. You-"

He thrust a finger inside of her and her sentence dissolved into incoherent gasps and mumbles. He made out two words, "Fuck me."

A triumphant smile came over his face.

With one quick motion, he rocked into her, completely sheathing himself and he thought he might die then and there. Perhaps it was because he hadn't lain with her for so long but it felt like he was finally alive, like everything was right with the world. He was never going to let her go.

"You're mine, Abella," he said as he thrust into her again. "I am yours and you are mine. Do you understand that?"

"Yes," she moaned. "I want to see you, Ez. I want to watch you."

He pulled out and flipped her onto her back then was inside her again without missing a beat. Her eyes locked onto his and she laced her fingers through his as they entwined themselves, mind, body and soul.

Ezmere came harder than he ever had in his life and he cried out her name as everything went white.

They remained locked together for several seconds, a panting, sweaty mess, then Ezmere collapsed sideways onto the ground, so as not to crush the blissful girl beneath him.

Every muscle in his body was shaking with ecstasy and when he looked at Abella they both began to laugh. He pulled her to him and pressed countless kisses on the back of her neck as they continued to shake with mirth. Everything that had happened over the past month was forgotten and forgiven.

They lay together for several minutes before Abella crawled over to a table at the edge of the tent and grabbed a bottle of wine. It was probably meant for someone else but neither of them cared and soon a second bottle was opened.

"Ready for round two?" Abella asked after she'd chugged her bottle. She pulled a set of metal manacles from the pockets of her abandoned pants and put a hand on Ezmere's chest, pushing him until his back was against the tent post.

"Do you trust me?"

Ezmere's shocked glance darted between the manacles and the girl wielding them. She had a wicked glint in her eyes.

"I trust you so hard right now."

"Good, now put your pants back on."

"Why?"

"So I can strip you myself."

He almost tripped in his haste to clothe himself.

Abella smiled and brought his arms behind the pole then clamped the chains around his wrists, pinning him in place.

After he was secured, she came back around and finished off the dregs of the first bottle of wine. Then much to Ezmere's surprise, she began putting her own clothes back on.

"Uh, Abella?"

She put on her vest and pulled her pants back on over her bare legs. Only then did she turn back to him and sit down in the dirt.

"Sit down, Ez. We need to talk."

This was looking less and less like what Ezmere had imagined in his head. He sat down and stared at her, trying not to look too nervous at her sudden change of attitude.

"So," she began, "you are aware that I've been gone a lot this past month. It's because I was with another man."

Oh god. Ezmere's nervousness was morphing into full-fledged panic. He'd had nightmares about this exact situation. One of her clients had fallen in love with her. He was going to marry her, offer her a life of wealth and prosperity. He was going to give her everything Ezmere couldn't.

"Are you leaving me?" he asked, hardly able to get the words out.

She frowned and scotched a bit closer to him. "No, Ez. Never. But there is something you should know."

Ezmere was glad she had told him ahead of time to sit down. He wasn't sure he'd have been able to handle this all standing up.

Abella carefully set the wine on the ground and took a deep breath, her fingers twitching in her lap. "I need you to promise that you'll let me speak. You can't interrupt me."

"I promise," Ezmere said instantly. He'd have promised anything in that moment, anything to get her to finally tell him what had happened.

"The other man. It's…" She took another deep breath and tried to summon the courage to say what needed to be said. Finally, she ground out, "It's Frollo."

Ezmere did nothing.

"It's Frollo, Ez," Abella repeated.

Ezmere almost laughed. It sounded like she was saying Frollo.

"Ezmere, listen. It's the Minister of Justice, Claude Frollo."

His lips were twitching in amused confusion. It was funny, but a strange and slightly cruel joke to play.

"No, it's not."

It seemed he was not taking it the way Abella had hoped. "Yes, it is."

She continued talking but Ezmere could hear nothing other than the name rolling through his head. The Minister of Justice, Claude Frollo. That was what she had said. Claude Frollo.

"You've been seeing Claude Frollo?" he said, interrupting whatever she had been saying.

She paused then bit her lip and nodded.

The terrible implications of what she said came slamming into him all at once and suddenly Ezmere couldn't breathe. He started pulling on the chains around his wrists. "Unchain me."

"No, you have to listen to me first."

"Abella! Unchain me!"

"No! You promised you would listen!" And she plowed on. "I didn't want anything to do with him but he threatened the lives of everyone in prison! I couldn't let our friends die!"

The muscles of Ezmere's face started twitching as a rage unlike anything he'd ever felt before flooded his veins. "How long?"

"What?"

"How long has he been fucking you?" he roared.

"He hasn't fucked me," she spat back, equally upset. "He's done almost everything but that."

"HOW LONG?"

She glared at him and took a long draught of wine. "Since he found you with Quasimodo."

Over a month. "Oh God," he whispered.

"Sometimes I didn't hear from him for a week and then other times it was twice times a day," she admitted. She was now clutching the bottle like it was her lifeline.

None of it made any sense. Ezmere was blinking like an owl as if that would somehow help him process what he was hearing. He tried to speak but only made a strange breathless croak before wheezing, "He wants you that badly?"

More wine. A lot more wine. "No," Abella gasped, as the liquid burned down her throat. "He wants you that badly."

"What?"

She stood and held the wine out to him but when he did not indicate that he wanted any, she chugged the bottle and began pacing. "He has this hat he always made me wear. It was tricornered and-"

"Black and maroon," Ezmere whispered in horror.

She nodded miserably and continued her narrative. "I wasn't the one who cut my hair. He did. He wanted it to look more like yours. And I wasn't allowed to wear skirts. I had to wear pants and then he would pull the hat low over my face so he could imagine it was you. It was your name he called out in pleasure."

Ezmere renewed his yanking on the chains. He couldn't listen to this. He wanted to carve out his brain and feed it to wild dogs. Anything to get the images out of his head. "You're wearing pants now! Did you see him today?! Unchain me!" he shouted again.

"Ez, please-"

"ABELLA! FUCKING UNCHAIN ME RIGHT NOW!" he howled. He felt like lava had been poured down his throat. His heart was trying to punch its way out of his chest. "I'M GOING TO CUT OFF HIS DICK AND SHOVE IT DOWN HIS THROAT! I'M GOING TO BEAT HIM WITH HIS OWN BIBLE AND THEN FEED HIM TO THE PIGS! I'M GOING TO-"

He continued on for an hour, his threats growing more and more creative.

Abella soon stopped trying to shut him up and let him rant and rail. A small crowd gathered outside the tent but she sent them on their way.

At one point he leaned over and vomited the wine he'd drank and Abella silently cleaned it up while he continued shouting. His wrists began bleeding from the manacles as he struggled to pull his hands free. Abella tried to pad the metal so he wouldn't deepen the cuts but he wouldn't let her.

"Stop helping me!" he cried. "Stop!"

She sat back down and looked at him tiredly. "What do you want me to do, Ez?"

"I want you to hit me! I want you to scream at me!" Hot, angry tears began spilling down his face. "It's my fault that this happened to you!" His head fell onto his chest and waves of guilt poured out in hollow sobs. It was his fault that Frollo had defiled her.

"No, it's not. It's no one's fault but Frollo's."

Hearing Frollo's name sent Ezmere back into a blind rage of shouting and cursing, followed by frantic rounds of begging her to set him free then back to cursing when she wouldn't.

Near the end of the two hour mark, Marleen came in. "Is he almost finished?" she asked Abella.

She gave him a tired glance. "I'm guessing his voice will be gone in a few minutes so yes. You can bring them in."

Ezmere was indeed almost at the end of his voice. He could hardly speak, let alone yell. "Why are you doing this, Abella?" he rasped. "Why did you let him do this? Why didn't you get help?"

Her eyes flashed and she snapped, "I did get help Ezmere. And if you'd shut up for half a second, you'd know that!"

More people began filing into the tent. Ezmere recognized them as the camp Elders. Marleen put her arm around Abella and pulled the poor girl into a consoling hug.

Ezmere didn't stop trying to get loose until one of the Elders, a short man named Basile, said, "Ezmere you must stop. We are here to help but I can't hear my own thoughts over your racket."

But Ezmere didn't want to stop. He wanted to scream and shout for days, or at least until Frollo heard him. He wanted to rip off his arms if it meant he would be free to go tearing through the city. He'd strangle the man with his bare feet if he had to!

But he looked around the room at the stern glances being directed his way and the tears that Abella was fighting to keep in check and he finally fell into a ragged silence.

His head ached as it had when he'd been hit by Quasimodo and his throat was burning. Blood trailed down his wrists but it all faded as Abella wiped her tears away and knelt next to him.

"Ez," she said softly. "I did get help. But it just couldn't be you. I couldn't be with you with the thoughts of what that man… that monster… wanted to do to you. I couldn't."

Ezmere craned his neck to look at the roof of the tent, blinking frantically. He didn't want to cry again but tears had already blurred his vision. Her words were piercing him like knives.

Once she was certain he wasn't going to start shouting again, she moved closer and lay her head on his shoulder as Basile began to speak.

"We have always known that Claude Frollo is a wicked man but now we have more proof than we needed." He turned a sad smile to Abella and said, "Thank you child for your sacrifice. You have bought us much needed time."

"Ezmere, you have spent much of the past month in my tent but I know you still saw how the camp has changed," Marleen said as she stepped forward. "This isn't the Paris that we love, this is the Paris that we fear."

Basile nodded in agreement. "The last time things were this bad was twenty years ago, just before the Night of Fire. The night when they killed so many of us."

Everyone fell silent except for the occasional sniffle from Abella. Ezmere still couldn't look down.

"We are wise enough to see the signs. We will not let history repeat itself… And so, we are leaving."

"Leaving?" Ezmere said hoarsely.

Basile and Marleen exchanged sorrowful looks but it seemed the Elders had already made up their minds.

"Yes," he said. "We will return to the mountains. The ones you have only so recently come from and there we will begin to live again."

There were murmurs of agreement then another man came forward. Ezmere recognized him as one of the gypsies' few blacksmiths. His sons had recently been jailed by the guards. "We now have enough weapons to free the prisoners," he said. "We can get them out tonight."

"Good," Basile said. He then turned back to Ezmere who had gone into a state of silent shock. "And so Ezmere, that is why Abella bore such a burden. She is solely responsible for the safety of our friends and family in those cells and that is why she will go to Frollo one last time tonight. She will distract him while we free our comrades then we will all vanish into the night, never to return."

Ezmere was torn between utter happiness and utter horror. They were going home. And the thought that he would get to share that with Abella was enough to make his heart soar but of one thing he was certain, Claude Frollo was never going to touch her again. If he was expecting a visitor tonight then Ezmere would be happy to oblige. Only one of them was going to walk out of that room alive and he knew it wouldn't be the Judge.

And so a deranged calm settled over his mind. He would have his revenge. He knew better than to voice his plan as Abella would doubtless leave him chained to the post and so he smiled and said that yes he would cooperate and no he wasn't going to cause any trouble.

He thought she might have seen something in his face because she squinted at him suspiciously but Ezmere smiled and kissed her. He whispered about all the places he was going to take her and everything he wanted to show her, but in his mind, a much different plan was taking form and it involved a certain black and maroon hat.


	7. Chapter 7

Frollo examined the chess board in front of him with a careful eye. Granted, Jackson was not the most skilled player but on the rare occasion that Frollo lost, he found it was due to his own lack of judgment rather than his opponent's prowess. He knew he had a nasty habit of anticipating a win before its time, often leading to disaster. But that would not be the case tonight. No, tonight he had brought out the full force of his considerable skill and he felt it was fair to predict checkmate within two moves.

He slid his king's rook forward two spaces and resisted a smug smile as he plucked Jackson's queen from the board. Over the course of the game, they'd been discussing the daily reports of the city.

"And what news have you of the gypsy camp?" he asked. "I trust your spy has been performing his duties."

"He has. Even as I was on my way here, he informed me of a situation that we may need to monitor. They seem to be readying themselves to-"

"To fight?" Frollo interrupted.

"No. They are readying themselves to leave. As soon as the sun set, they began packing up."

Several emotions fought for control of Frollo's mind. The first was indignation. So Paris wasn't good enough for them anymore? They were in search of some other, greater city that was worthy of their hovels and rags. He snorted. So be it. Let them go and infect the rest of the world. Let them be someone else's problem.

The second emotion was one that he would never admit out loud, but it was the smallest bit of displeasure at their loss. He would miss having such a shrewd enemy.

It then struck him that if they really were leaving, he didn't want it to be of their own accord, just walking out at their leisure, he wanted them to run. He wanted them tripping over their feet as they fled God's wrath. His wrath.

He slammed his knight down and knocked Jackson's last bishop from the board. "Checkmate."

The other man accepted his loss with a quiet sigh. He had known from the start he wouldn't win.

"Well played," he said.

Frollo gave him a thin lipped smile then swept the pieces into their canvas bag. "Captain, I don't like that the gypsies are taking their leave so casually. I wish to ensure that there is no doubt, no hesitation in their mind." He drew the strings of the bag shut with a sharp snap. "Send out an order that every gypsy left in the city by midnight will be killed. Throw them in with the other prisoners and they will burn in the morning."

Jackson let out a low whistle. "Yes sir. If that doesn't make them run nothing will."

"Indeed…"

The Captain tipped his hat and made to leave the room.

"One more thing," Frollo added. "Have the men start construction on several gallows just in case we can't burn them all."

"We'll start within the hour."

"Very good. You may leave."

Alone with his thoughts, Frollo plotted what to do with Abella. She was due any minute, at least she was if she still had any interest in protecting her people. He clicked his tongue and decided that if she came to him tonight, she would perform her duties then be sent to a cell with the rest of her filthy friends.

He would however, be merciful and have her hanged rather than burned, even though her whorish ways deserved the flames. She'd be burning soon enough in hell.

He chuckled at the thought and began writing out his orders. Jackson already knew but he wanted it recorded that he, Claude Frollo, was the one who had finally purged Paris of the riffraff.

There came a soft knock on the door. So she had come after all. "Enter," he called without looking up. "You know what to do."

She came inside and took up her spot, kneeling next to the bed. The hat was waiting for her and he heard the rustle of hair as she placed it on her head and pulled the brim down low.

"It is a shame, my dear, that tonight is to be our last encounter. I heard you and your kind intend to take your leave," Frollo said as he signed his name at the bottom of the document then sealed it with his crimson, wax stamp. "Still, I suppose all good things must come to an end."

He chuckled again as he crossed the room to her. He stared down at the hat as he always did and let the belt of his robes fall to the floor, but then he hesitated… He could see a bit of her face and found it different. The lines of her jaw were more square and masculine. Her hair was black as coal.

Frollo frowned. What sort of devilry was this? What had she done? He hooked a finger beneath the brim of the hat and pulled it upwards.

Claude Frollo was not an easy man to surprise but in that moment, his heart stopped. He took a rapid step backwards.

"Ezmere," he breathed.

There was no mistaking those eyes. Those eyes by which he judged and condemned every other shade of green. They were full of indescribable, burning hatred, and they were looking at him and only him.

"It's not possible! This- this isn't real!"

Ezmere took the hat off and set it carefully on the bed before giving Frollo a cold smile. "No? Maybe this will change your mind." He surged to his feet and slammed his fist across the Judge's face.

Frollo's vision flashed red and he fell to the ground, too stunned to fight back.

"She told you?" he gasped through watering eyes. Part of the reason he'd felt safe letting Abella return to her people was because he did things so horrible to her that he thought she would die before speaking them to anyone, let alone Ezmere.

Ezmere crouched down over him and said, "She didn't want to and she kept it a secret for far longer than she should have." He withdrew a long, silver dagger and let the tip rest against Frollo's throat. "She was planning on being here tonight but I had to remove her from the situation. I'm sure she'll forgive me eventually."

Frollo spat a mouthful of blood on the ground and tried to get up but Ezmere dug the blade into his pale flesh.

"I didn't say you could move."

Frollo repressed an exhilarated shudder. He'd grown far too used to Abella. She'd been the perfect, soft Ezmere with just enough defiance to make it believable but her forced service paled in comparison to the hypnotic mixture of pride, stubbornness, beauty and raw power that stood over him now.

He noted that Ezmere's voice was lower and rougher than usual but it only set Frollo's heart beating faster. Already he could hardly breathe and he hadn't even touched the boy.

He suddenly became aware that Ezmere was watching him and he rushed to mask his emotions but it was too late. His vulnerability and lust had been plainly visible.

Frollo felt the knife bite at him as Ezmere moved it from his adam's apple to rest in the hollow of his throat.

"You know, Frollo," Ezmere said almost curiously, "I have been with a man before. It was several years ago but I still remember it well."

Frollo choked on his own saliva and he spat, "You filthy rat! You'll-"

Ezmere gave a sharp wave of his hand, cutting of Frollo's speech. "I'll burn in hell, I know. Spare me your sermon."

Frollo grunted as Ezmere grabbed him by the collar of his robes and slammed him against the wall.

"I suppose that is one of my faults, I love to love. But you…" He drew back his fist and sank it into Frollo's stomach. "You love to hate!"

Frollo doubled over, unable to breathe as Ezmere hit him again and again but he made no move to defend himself. He let Ezmere slam him back against the wall.

"Instead of accepting your feelings, what did you do?"

Frollo could feel his face turning purple as Ezmere's fingers clamped down around his neck.

"You took the woman I love rather than face me yourself! You defiled her! You did unspeakable things to her and forced her to become your own personal whore!" Ezmere shouted, his voice crackling with rage.

A choked, rattling laugh fell from Frollo's lips and he smiled. "But you forget, Ezmere. She already was a whore."

He knocked the knife from the boy's hand and tackled him to the ground, both men struggling to subdue the other. They went slamming into the bookshelf, sending down a torrent of heavy scriptures, Bibles and pamphlets.

The desk was the next to go. All four legs snapped as Frollo threw Ezmere onto the aged wood.

The sound of splintering wood echoed through the room but Ezmere was quick to recover and he began to make use of his new surroundings.

Frollo had to take cover as Ezmere began hurtling wooden shards at him like daggers. He yowled as an ink bottle collided with his skull, dyeing part of his hair black with ink and red with blood.

The longer they fought, the faster Frollo's confidence began to trickle away.

Certainly, the boy had skill in hand to hand combat but Frollo still had the steely muscles he'd perfected in his prime. Last time they had fought, he'd easily kept the upper hand but as Ezmere continued to land hits, Frollo realized several things in quick succession.

Last time they'd fought, Quasimodo had practically split open the Ezmere's skull, robbing him of his ability to fight. Secondly, this was a gypsy who had grown up in the wild of the rough, French mountains. He'd been fighting for survival his entire life and now he was motivated by a horrible, dark hatred that rattled Frollo's bones.

In an act of desperation, Frollo flung out his arm and grabbed the metal handcuffs he had so often made Abella wear and whipped them across Ezmere's face.

Ezmere reared back but the jagged metal still managed to open a long cut above his left eyebrow.

The cuffs quickly became Ezmere's new target and he fought like mad to get them.

Frollo also realized that, as a gypsy, Ezmere was genetically inclined to fight dirty and his premonition came true the instant Ezmere swung his foot back then kneed him between the legs.

Frollo felt his eyes glaze over and he toppled to the ground with a faint wheeze, completely immobile.

Ezmere held one hand to his head to stop the bleeding and used the other to cuff Frollo to the bed post. He looped the chains over the top of the bed frame so that Frollo was forced to stand with his arms stretched painfully above him.

Through a haze of pain, Frollo wondered if Ezmere knew all the things he'd done to Abella in that very spot. His gaze lingered on several deep gashes on Ezmere's wrists and Ezmere noticed his staring.

"She chained me so I couldn't come for you."

Frollo turned his nose up and looked the other way. "Looks like you certainly made a good effort," he said, trying not to wince at the pain in his crotch.

Ezmere nodded in agreement. "That I did."

Aroused as he was by the situation, he'd had almost this exact dream once, Frollo couldn't help but feel a tiny prickle of fear. There was no doubt in his mind that Ezmere meant to kill him.

As if sensing his thoughts, Ezmere gave him a smile that sent chills down his spine.

"You gutter rat," Frollo hissed as Ezmere finished securing him, then began searching the wreckage of the room for his dagger.

Frollo couldn't help but watch him. It was as if the boy exuded some kind of ungodly magnetism that made him powerless to look away. Dirt and blood stained the boy's skin and yet it only made him more enticing.

Once he had found what he was looking for, Ezmere returned to Frollo and said, "I'm going to humiliate you the way you humiliated Abella." He took the hat from the bed and slammed it, none to gently, onto Frollo's head.

"Then you will suffer as you made my people suffer." He punctuated the statement with another hit to the stomach.

Frollo grunted as Ezmere grabbed his hair and pulled him up so they were staring eye to eye. "And then yes... I am going to kill you."

Frollo's lips contorted into a silent snarl. Though they were almost the same height, Frollo felt as if Ezmere towered above him. "You'll be signing your own death warrant. My men will tear you to shreds."

Ezmere released his hair and turned away. "Then I suppose I'll meet you in hell."

Frollo stood, panting heavily, and stared at Ezmere's back. He couldn't help but imagine the muscles beneath the loose, white shirt. How he longed to touch them, to run his fingers over the perfect, tanned skin.

"Admit you're a sinner," Ezmere said, jolting Frollo from his trance.

"I am no such thing, you foolish whelp! You will burn in hell fire for all time while I watch you from above! How I long to hear you scream!"

Ezmere whipped back around and grabbed Frollo's chin, wrenching his face down to his.

"Admit you are a sinner," he hissed.

Frollo jerked his head back, out of Ezmere's grip. "I will not, for I am not!"

A stunned laugh burst from Ezmere and he waved the dagger in Frollo's face as he began shouting, "You condemn me for the very sin which infects you and yet I am the one that will burn?"

"You will rot in hell!"

Ezmere struck him across the face. "Admit you are a sinner! You tortured Abella! You persecute my people! You lust after me! You keep Quasimodo imprisoned by use of fear and abuse! You are a sinner, just like everyone else on this damned earth!"

"I AM NOT A SINNER!" Frollo bellowed, spittle falling from his mouth. He couldn't have known it but he looked quite insane, straining against the chains and his eyes opened maddeningly wide.

Ezmere threw down the knife so that it landed in the wooden floor with a soft thump. "Then you give me no choice."

Frollo swallowed nervously as he watched Ezmere. He seemed to be thinking hard about something then, with a heavy exhale, he reached out and removed the hat from Frollo's head.

The hat lingered in his hands for several seconds as he stared at it. His fingers traced the brim.

Frollo couldn't breathe but watched with speechless anticipation and fear.

Ezmere visibly steeled himself, then clenched his jaw and put on the hat.

"What are you doing?" Frollo asked. He worked even harder to free himself from the chains. "Get away from me! Get back!"

Ezmere ignored his shouting and knelt in front of him.

Frollo groaned audibly at the sight. Ezmere was kneeling before him. The hat rested upon a halo of perfectly messy black curls. His lips were parted slightly.

"No! Demon! NO! Leave me!" Frollo begged. He cried out as Ezmere's hands came to rest on his upper thighs. Strangled, half formed words began falling from his lips in his desperation to contain himself.

"Admit you want me. Admit you are a sinner," Ezmere repeated. He was frightfully calm, his eyes trained on Frollo. He knew exactly what he was doing.

"Never!" Frollo cried. "I won't! Oh, Blessed Maria, save me!"

Ezmere's hands begun moving upwards.

Frollo was going mad. He howled and screamed and pulled on the chains with everything he had, all to distract himself from the boy's touch. "Hellfire! Ash and brimstone! You are a demon! You will not take me!" He couldn't look away from Ezmere's shirt. The collar was hanging open, giving him a glimpse of the boy's collar bone. What he wouldn't do to touch him... Frollo groaned again, not caring that Ezmere heard.

And then all at once, Ezmere's motions ceased and everything came crashing back down. "What?" Frollo panted. He hadn't wanted it to stop.

"Admit you are a sinner."

"I won't."

Ezmere's face settled into hard lines. He narrowed his eyes, then his hand shot out and he grabbed hold of Frollo's bulging erection.

Frollo threw his head back and shouted in desire and hatred. It felt as if he was being consumed by a flaming torch of passion and he never wanted it to stop. "I WANT YOU!" he screamed. "I want to bend you over and fuck you until you scream my name! I want to kiss you! I want you to be mine! YOU WILL BE MINE!"

Ezmere dropped his hand and picked up the dagger which he stabbed into Frollo's thigh.

"You disgust me," he said, his voice trembling slightly. "You are a monster and you are a sinner."

Gut wrenching sobs began to shake Frollo's thin frame. What had he done? What had he said? Why was Ezmere doing this to him? He'd said such horrible things...

"I am a sinner…"

Blood trailed down his leg, falling to the floor in small drops.

Ezmere stared at him without pity. "Part of me is tempted to let you live if only to force you to go out amongst those people you scorn and realize you are a lesser man than they."

Frollo shook his head as he continued to cry. "Kill me! Kill me, Ezmere!" He didn't want to live another second with the horrid, heavy weight of judgment and guilt that had settled over his heart.

It seemed their confrontation had robbed Ezmere of his bloodlust. He looked tired beyond words.

"Claude Frollo," he said as he withdrew the dagger from Frollo's leg and unchained his arms. "You are a sinner and I have broken you as you have broken my people. We are not ones to run from a fight but take pride in knowing that your cruelty has driven us from this city."

Silent tears dripped off Frollo's face but he stood tall and glared at Ezmere. He would die with the little dignity he had left.

Ezmere did not smile or laugh. He had grown several shades paler and the hand wielding the knife tremored as he raised it. "I kill you for Abella, for Quasimodo, for my parents and my people."

And he jammed the blade upward into Frollo's heart just as the door flew open and Abella burst inside.

"Ez!" she screamed. "We have to leave! They're coming!"

Ezmere turned to face her and loss of his support made Frollo crumple to the ground without a sound. Abella didn't spare him a glance as she grabbed Ezmere's arm and started trying to pull him from the room.

"We have to leave now!"

"Wait!" Ezmere shouted. "I have to make sure he's dead!"

Abella shrieked in frustration and hollered, "If we stay, we'll be the ones dead! They're going to burn us all!"

Frollo watched their struggle and he let his eyes fall shut and a small breath leave his throat.

Seeing that, Ezmere gave up and let Abella usher him out. "Where's Marleen? We have to make sure she's safe!"

Their conversation faded as they flew down the steps and only then did Frollo open his eyes and sit up. For a moment he could hardly believe he was alive. The knife was still buried in his chest but it was stuck to something. He grasped the handle and pulled it free, then reached a hand inside his breast pocket and withdrew a small, but thick, leather-bound copy of the Book of Psalms which he always carried over his heart. Ezmere's blade had impaled the book.

"Blessed Maria," Frollo breathed as he clutched the book with trembling hands. It was a sign. It was a sign from Virgin herself that she was watching over him, that she was with him. The Devil had tested him but he had emerged even stronger.

The edges of the book began to crinkle as his knuckles turned white. Ezmere had made him say things that he never wanted to admit and yet he had not died, therefore he must not have sinned. Perhaps his feelings weren't wrong after all.

An eerie calmness settled over his mind and he smiled. He was not a sinner. The Blessed Maria had left him alive so that he could teach the boy a lesson. Not only the boy, the whole of Paris.

Safe in the knowledge that he could do no wrong, he rose and limped down the steps that Abella and Ezmere had just stampeded down. The front door of his home was thrown wide open and he saw them running in the distance. They were headed for Notre Dame.

"Sanctuary," Frollo whispered to himself, still grasping his book. They would find no such thing.


	8. Chapter 8

Ezmere could hear Abella chasing after him and he paused to look around the corner of a building. Finding the way clear, he waited for her to catch up then they pressed on.

"Where's Marleen?" he asked as they ghosted down the streets.

"She's already gone! She thought you left earlier, like you were supposed to!" Abella said, jabbing him in the chest. "But instead you steal her herbs, drug me and throw me in a cart like a sack of potatoes, all so you could have a pissing contest with Frollo!"

Her voice had risen to a high pitched screech and Ezmere clamped a hand over her mouth. He pulled her into the shadows just as a trio of guards ran past. "I'm not sorry," he whispered into her ear. "I wasn't going to let him touch you ever again. I had to kill him."

The guards eventually moved on and Abella squirmed until he let her go.

"Abella, I want you to run. Catch up with the others and I'll find you in the morning!" He gave her a quick kiss and tried to leave but she sank her nails into his arms in protest.

"What? No! Where are you going?"

"To Notre Dame."

She then dug her heels into the street and refused to move until he listened to her. "They won't give you sanctuary! You have to come with me right now! We have to leave!"

He shook loose of her grip and cried, "I'm not going for sanctuary! I have to get Quasimodo!"

Confusion flashed across Abella's face but then she looked to the cathedral in concern.

"I won't leave her there," Ezmere said following her gaze. "Frollo's gone, she'll have no one to protect her."

The thick smell of smoke descended upon them and they looked up to see orange reflecting in the grey clouds overhead.

"They're burning the camp," Abella gasped, once she had found the source of the flames.

"Frollo must have known we were leaving. Was everyone out?"

"I don't know... Oh Ez…" Her home was burning. She stared at the billowing smoke with an empty expression.

Ezmere didn't know what to do other than to pull her close. "I'm sorry."

She hugged him tightly, her gaze still locked on the dancing orange lights in the sky. The sounds of distant screams floated through the air of the city.

"Bella!"

They whipped around to find little Viggo running towards them, his face streaked with mud and dirt.

"Viggo!" Abella cried as she opened her arms to him.

He launched himself into her embrace and Ezmere moved them both off the road.

"Are you hurt?" he asked as he crouched down to Viggo's height.

The boy shook his head. "I wanted to find you!"

"We have to get him out," Abella said frantically to Ezmere as she grabbed Viggo's hand.

Ezmere nodded, already scanning the roads for the safest route. "This way."

They ran for several minuets, bursting through the crowds of onlookers and slinking past the guards. Ezmere hated the detour from Quasimodo but knew they couldn't leave Viggo until he was safe.

They didn't stop until they reached the eastern wall of the city. Here the walls were thinner and less guarded.

Ezmere lifted Viggo onto his shoulders. "Climb the rest of the way. Don't stop running until you reach the others. They're at the river."

Viggo nodded his understanding and swung his legs over the wall.

"Wait!" Abella cried. "Tell Marleen I've found Ezmere! Tell her there's something we have to do! Make them go without us!"

Viggo nodded again, his hair falling into his face.

"Stick to the shadows," Ezmere warned although he knew the boy already knew to do so. There were few as small and stealthy as Viggo.

Once they were certain he was safely on his way, they sprinted back to Notre Dame.

"Do you think anyone's inside?" Abella asked, panting after their run.

Ezmere shook his head. They were running out of time. "Doesn't matter. We have to go now."

Suddenly, there came a rattling of wheels and they scrambled out of the street to avoid being run over by a horse drawn carriage that came thundering down the cobblestones. It surged past them and stopped at Notre Dame. They watched a dark figure rush inside.

Abella's cold hand slipped into his own and Ezmere looked down at her face, now bathed in a fiery glow and alight with weary defiance. "Let's go get your friend."

They ran forward until there was only one street between themselves and the cathedral.

Ezmere pointed at the carriage which was stopped a few feet from the door. "Get rid of the driver and free the horses. I'll get Quasimodo and meet you back down here. Be ready to ride."

She nodded.

"I lost my dagger or I'd give it to you," Ezmere said, patting down his empty pockets in the hopes of finding a stray blade.

Abella snorted and started pulling multiple knives from her corset. Two she kept and the other she threw to him.

"God, you're amazing," Ezmere smiled as he pulled her in for a kiss.

Her hands slipped down his back and she gave his ass a quick squeeze before saying, "Never forget it."

Then she vanished into the night.

Ezmere had to bite his lip to keep from laughing and shook his head to clear it. He needed to focus. Going inside the cathedral would doubtless result in his incarceration so he ran to the side of the building where he had climbed before. The fires provided just enough light to see by and he started up.

The horses below gave several faint whinnies and he looked down to see Abella climb into the driver's seat. There was someone slumped over next to her and Ezmere felt a stab of pity for the man but then shrugged it away. It was very unlikely she had actually killed him. She killed only when unavoidable.

Abella flicked the reigns and they moved to the other side of the building where she could release the horses from the carriage away from prying eyes.

Ezmere silently wished her luck then continued his climb. Twice he slipped due to the poor lighting and once more because of his nerves. What if Quasimodo refused to leave? What if she attacked him for killing Frollo? If she threw him again…

He pushed the ominous thought from his mind. The roof was only ten feet above him. He paused again at the gargoyle to catch his breath and that was when he heard the first sounds of a were faint grunts and the metallic clanging of chains.

Adrenaline surged through his body and he scrambled up the last few feet and pulled himself up onto the empty roof. No one was there but still he could hear Quasimodo fighting. He slid down the ladder and stood among the bells.

It was pitch black.

He moved forward blindly with his arms outstretched for balance and sending up frantic prayers that he wouldn't smack into a bell and alert all of Paris to his invasion.

Gradually, his eyes adjusted and he saw the dim, flickering light of a single lantern in the room below and by that light, Quasimodo.

Heavy chains were wrapped around her arms and torso, anchoring her in place. Ezmere's blood boiled at the sight but he did not immediately rush to her aide and instead waited, crouched on the beams like a cat, as he took stock of the situation. It was entirely possible that whoever had chained her was still lurking about.

After almost a full minute of watching and waiting, Ezmere knew he had no more time to loose. He dropped down from the beams and landed directly in front of Quazimodo.

He crouched in a battle stance, knees slightly bent and Abella's dagger held defensively in his hand. "Is there someone here, Quasi?"

She had frozen at the sight of him and Ezmere now noticed a thick gag that had been placed over her mouth.

"Is there someone here?" he repeated.

His voice snapped her out of her daze and she began nodding frantically and jerking her head to the side.

Ezmere adjusted his grip on the dagger and evaluated the dark corner. Someone was standing still as stone, but their armor gave them away. It was glinting a dull silver in the torch light.

Knowing he had been discovered, the man drew his sword and rushed forward but Ezmere, already prepared, focused on the man's neck and let his dagger fly. It hurtled end over end and sank neatly into its fleshy target. The guard collapsed in a clatter of metal and Ezmere could now see his face but he didn't recognize him. One of Frollo's men, he supposed.

Quasimodo was still shouting.

"It's alright, Quasi. He's dead," Ezmere said, eyeing the corpse with a sharp glance.

He turned back to Quasimodo, intending to free her, but grunted as he instead collided with a tall, dark figure.

There came a sudden, searing pain in his torso and he looked down to see a blade protruding from his abdomen. His hand shot out of its own volition and he grabbed his attacker by the shoulder to stay upright. He looked at the man's face.

"Shit..." he said weakly.

A cruel smile twisted Frollo's lips. "Indeed."

Ezmere tried to back away but his fingers had frozen, grasping a fistful of Frollo's robes. He couldn't move. The blade in his side seemed to be both doused in flames and yet cold as ice at the same time and his flesh screamed at the intrusion. "How are you alive?" he stammered, still staring in shock at the ghost before him.

Frollo's smile only grew wider and he dipped a hand into his breast pocket and held up a small book. "Next time you attempt to kill a servant of the Lord, do be sure your blade actually makes contact. Like so." He jerked the dagger and Ezmere almost blacked out. His grip on Frollo was the only thing keeping him up.

Frollo noticed this and he twisted Ezmere's wrist until he was forced to let go.

Ezmere gasped as he hit the ground but then he bit down hard on his tongue to silence himself. He refused to give Frollo the satisfaction.

He pulled his sleeve down over his left hand and pressed his fist against the wound in an attempt to stem the flow of was imperative that he not remove the blade or he'd bleed to death even faster than he already was.

Quasimodo was screaming and Frollo limped to her side. "Silence, Quasimodo!" he growled and he struck her on the back of the head with the handle of one of her carving tools. She gave a small whimper then slumped over against the chains.

Ezmere scanned the room for a weapon other than the one buried in his flesh. He saw Abella's dagger, still stuck in the man's neck and he started pulling himself across the floor. Unfortunately, Frollo got there first, despite the heavy bandage around his thigh from his own stabbing, and he threw it across the room.

"You never learn, do you?" he asked, circling Ezmere in amusement. "I have just shown you that I cannot be killed. What more proof do you need?"

Ezmere closed his eyes and tired to reign in his breathing. He wanted to scream from the pain but he knew that would only please Frollo.

"I'm sorry for the injury, my dear boy," Frollo said, "but I needed to level the playing field."

Of course, he hadn't leveled the playing field, he'd drastically done the opposite only now it was in his favor so he wasn't bothered.

Across the room, the door swung open and Ezmere's heart sank even further as he saw Abella being led inside by another guard.

"Ah, excellent timing, Jackson. Thank you," Frollo said. He was very obviously pleased with how things were going.

Abella blanched at the sight of Ezmere on the ground, a dagger through his side.

"Why is she here?" Ezmere asked through gritted teeth. "You don't need her, let her go."

Frollo scoffed and kicked Ezmere in the face.

The force of the blow slammed him onto his back, then Frollo stomped his foot down on the handle of the dagger. It punched through Ezmere's back and into the wooden floor below, pinning him in place.

Despite Ezmere's vow of silence, the pain was so intense that it tore a wild cry of agony from his throat and stars danced in his eyes.

"She is here, Ezmere, because I wish her to be. You are much too reckless for your own wellbeing to amount to any sort of leverage but I thought, perhaps her…" He snapped his fingers and Jackson drug his knife against Abella's skin, opening a cut that ran from her collar bone to the top of her breast.

She yipped more in surprise than pain and began spewing curses at Frollo who listened to them all without a care.

Ezmere raised a hand towards Jackson. "Don't… Don't do this." The situation was rapidly spiraling out of his control. He had to rectify that. "Let her go and Quasimodo too. I'll do whatever you want."

Frollo tapped a finger on his chin as if he was considering Ezmere's words but Abella had had enough.

"Don't you even fucking think about it!" she screamed. "You won't use me to hurt him!" Her words shifted now to address Ezmere. "And you! You don't get to be noble and heroic! You don't get to sacrifice yourself! I would endure thousands of cuts before I let that limp dick, son of a bitch touch you!"

Jackson put his hand over her mouth and cut her off mid rant.

Ezmere tried to get up but fell back against the floor gasping for breath. He glanced down at his wound then quickly looked away, wishing he hadn't.

They were stuck. He'd do anything for Abella just as she would for him. The only problem was, they weren't in control of the situation, Frollo was.

"How amusing," Frollo said, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. "You're both so averse to the idea of the other being harmed on your behalf that you're actually fighting over who it will be."

Ezmere snarled as Frollo knelt next to him and began running his spindly fingers through his hair. "I believe I have a solution. I will simply hurt you both."

Jackson grinned and he cut Abella again, then paused waiting for Frollo's next order.

"Oh, carry on," Frollo assured him, smiling down at Ezmere the whole time.

"Stop!" Ezmere shouted as Abella began to scream. "Frollo stop! Stop him!"

"I'll stop him when I wish."

Ezmere grunted as the fingers in his hair stopped their gentle caress and now held his scalp in a vice grip.

"Because you see," Frollo whispered, "I can hurt her for as long as I wish. And if you fight me, I will have Jackson cut her until her blood paints the walls of Notre Dame scarlet as communion wine..."

"You're a fucking, sadistic bastard," Ezmere spat.

"I am a servant of the Blessed Maria, free to do what I wish for she has shown me that I can do no wrong."

The first inkling of real fear crept into Ezmere's heart at those words. The man was unhinged.

"Now, Ezmere," Frollo said, his voice low and soft. "I want you to realize that no one can help you."

Ezmere winced as his neck was wrenched to the side to stare at Abella. "Not Abella." She was screaming into Jackson's hand as blood poured down her body.

He was now turned to the other side. "And not Quasimodo."

She was either unconscious or had lapsed to a trance like state of shock.

"You know, I honestly thought you were coming here to plead for sanctuary," Frollo told him. "I knew I had to get her out of the way, should she try to come to your aide, but I was wrong. You weren't here for sanctuary, you were coming here to free her, weren't you?"

"Yes, I was coming for her," Ezmere shuddered. "I wanted to take her far away because I knew that even in death, you would haunt this place!" He again tried to rise and this time, Frollo helped him.

He pulled the dagger loose from the floor and Ezmere was able to sit up.

"Ahh, careful," Frollo chided as the dagger shifted at the sudden movement. "Take that out and you'll bleed to death faster than Abella."

Ezmere wasn't sure he cared. He would gladly rip the dagger out if it meant he could plunge it into Frollo's black heart.

Unfortunately for him, he had a very expressive face and Frollo said quickly, "Jackson, if anything happens to me, you are to slit her throat."

Abella was screaming again and Ezmere had to resist the urge to clamp his hands over his ears. He couldn't stand hearing her in pain. "Stop this, please!"

Frollo let this go on for several minutes before he made Jackson stop.

Jackson immediately lowered his knife and pushed Abella away at the same time that Frollo let go of Ezmere.

He scrambled to Abella's side and pulled her away from Jackson. If looks could kill, Jackson and half the cathedral would have been incinerated by the fire burning in Ezmere's eyes as he held the crying girl.

Abella whimpered and Ezmere turned his focus to her. "I mean it, Ez," she groaned. "I won't let him touch you!"

"It's okay, it's okay," he said soothingly, while pressing kisses on her head. He tried to take stock of her injuries. There were already so many gashes on her arms, her back and her legs.

He knew she hated cuts. He'd seen several faded scars on her body from years ago when a client had tried to tie her down and torture her.

A leaden nauseousness settled over his stomach. He wouldn't let her experience that same fear again, not if he could help it.

She sensed what he was about to do and she moaned, "No, Ez! Don't give in! I can take it, I promise! Don't let him touch you." Tears were cutting sharp lines through the blood on her cheeks. "Don't let him!"

She had already endured far too much on his behalf.

Ezmere swallowed hard and pulled her head down to his shoulder so she wouldn't see him give in. He looked to Frollo. "You can have me."

Jackson came to pull Abella away but she clung to Ezmere, crying hysterically and clutching at his shirt. "Not for me, Ez. Please don't! No! NO!"

For the second time that day, Ezmere had to blink away his tears. He refused to cry in front of Frollo who was watching the scene like he was at a play.

Jackson was still trying to move Abella but Ezmere held out an arm to stop him. "Abella…" His voice broke when he said her name and her crying lessened as she looked up at him. "I love you," he mouthed.

"Enough," Frollo said sharply. "Ezmere, stand up."

Ezmere didn't know which one of them was shaking more but the feeling was still there even after Abella was gone so he supposed it was him. He took a deep breath and felt for the wall behind him, knowing he wouldn't be able to stand on his own.

No sound passed his lips but on the inside he was screaming. His heart was shattering and each piece was sending out crippling waves of despair that threatened to send him to back to the ground.

When he finally managed to stand, Frollo motioned for him to come forward.

Even the smallest step was agony but he managed it and came to a halt, swaying slightly, in front of Frollo who was watching with keen approval.

"Closer."

One hand still glued to his bleeding side, he shuffled forward until he was no less than a foot from the Judge.

That was good enough for Frollo. He closed the distance between them and snaked his hand around Ezmere's neck.

Ezmere tried to stop him. "Not in front of her," he pleaded. He wanted to spare Abella as much of this as he could.

Frollo studied her over Ezmere's shoulder. "Your concern is touching but I would have her watch this."

Every fiber of Ezmere's being was telling him to run but he couldn't. He had to be strong for Abella. She had gone through so much pain for him, it was only right he do the same for her.

But then he realized this wasn't happening because of her, this was his own fault. He'd be here even if she wasn't because he'd taunted Frollo, made an enemy of him. Every word of warning from Marleen and so many others, had fallen on deaf ears. No, this was entirely upon his shoulders. This was his punishment.

Frollo locked eyes with him, grey frost upon green fire, then he leaned forward and brought his lips to Ezmere's.

Ezmere blanched at the feeling of warm lips on his own. Frollo's kiss was soft, far softer than he had expected and he wanted to pull back. This was not allowed however and so he stared blankly at the wall and kept his lips firmly closed.

That did not please Frollo. He broke the kiss and said sternly, "Are you forgetting what will happen if you displease me?"

Ezmere couldn't look back at Abella, he was so full of shame and embarrassment. "No," he rasped. "I'll do better."

Frollo nodded but then his expression softened and his hand moved from Ezmere's neck to his hair and while he was still holding his head, it was less demanding.

Their lips met again and Frollo made a small noise.

Ezmere knew what it meant. Dreading what was to come, he opened his mouth, letting Frollo's tongue greedily tangle with his own.

The kiss grew more intense.

Something hard was poking Ezmere in the hip. He knew what it was but he ignored it and focused on not throwing up.

After several minutes, Frollo pulled back, panting slightly, and he stared at Ezmere as if seeing him for the first time. "You are so beautiful," he murmured, running a knuckle down Ezmere's cheek.

Ezmere clenched his jaw and looked away.

"Captain, stay with the women," Frollo said. "Should anything happen to me, you may have your way with the gypsy and then kill her."

Jackson didn't seem to care about what filthy deeds Frollo was committing so long as he got to have Abella. "Yes sir."

Ezmere could feel Abella's gaze hot on his back but he still couldn't look at her.

Frollo swept out his hand and motioned towards the ladder that would take them up past the bells and out onto the roof.

Somehow Ezmere didn't think he'd be coming back down. He wasn't a fool, he knew what was about to take place.

He grabbed Frollo's arm said lowly, "If I do this... If I cooperate, you must free Abella and Quasimodo."

"Mmmmm… I will release Abella. She will be granted safe passage from Paris and will be reunited with your people. I shall not hunt her down."

Still Ezmere hesitated. "Quasimodo as well."

That made Frollo sigh and he squinted at the silent girl. "I will offer her a choice. I will let her accompany Abella or she may stay with me, here in Paris. Does that please you?"

He supposed that was as good as he could hope but there was still no way to make sure Frollo would honor his promises.

"Ezmere," Frollo said, guessing his thoughts, "Whatever else you may think of me, I am a man of my word. I will release them, I swear it."

Ezmere still wasn't sure if he believed him but he hoped that going with Frollo to the roof would perhaps give Abella a chance to escape. "Fine," he nodded. "You may do what you wish."

"Very well. Once you have pleasured me, I will set them free. You will watch them go, then you will burn."

The color drained from Ezmere's skin but he held out his hand. Frollo took it and they shook. It was a deal.

Finally, Ezmere summoned the strength to look back at Abella although he wished he hadn't. She was pale and raw, with sorrow reading in every line of her body and her eyes begging him not to go.

There was nothing to be said so Ezmere gave her one last look, then summoned his courage and faced the ladder which may as well have been a mountain in his current state.

He lifted one foot and set it on the first wrung then hung there trying to gather enough strength to move.

"Climb," Frollo said, prodding him in the back. "That is, unless you wish me to take you in full view of the women. Is that what you want?"

Loathing such as Ezmere had never felt muddled his thoughts. "No," he whispered, not trusting his voice.

"Then climb."

Ezmere took his hand from his wound and pulled himself up the first step. He gasped as excruciating pain shot through his lungs, sending tears to his eyes.

Frollo was still standing at his side. "Well done, now another."

Already panting like a madman, Ezmere spat, "Next time we do this, how about you stab me after I'm already on the roof!"

Frollo chuckled in genuine amusement and placed a tender yet firm hand on the back of Ezmere's thigh.

Bristling at both the laugh and the touch, Ezmere locked his mouth into a snarl and moved up the next wrung. How he would make it up the entire ladder, he had no idea but he knew there was no other choice.

He soon became numb to the pain except for once when the dagger caught on a wrung and threatened to tear open his side. It felt like he'd just been stabbed a second time.

In order to avoid succumbing to the pain, he pushed everything from his mind and gave himself minimal directions. Lift one hand. Pull. Lift one foot. Pull.

Intent as he was on his herculean task, he didn't realized he'd reached the top until a gentle breeze ruffled his hair and he looked up to see a sky full of stars, fighting to be seen through the layers of smoke and clouds.

With the last of his strength, Ezmere climbed off the ladder and staggered on the roof, struggling in vain to catch his breath. "Bloody fucking hell," he wheezed, then the ground rushed up to meet him and he promptly blacked out.


	9. Chapter 9

Ezmere woke to the soothing feeling of someone dabbing at his forehead with a wet cloth. He felt feverish and sticky. Marleen must have been trying to bring down his temperature. He could feel her arms around him and he shifted in her embrace.

"Thank you," he said drowsily.

"You're welcome, my dear boy."

Ezmere's eyes shot open and he scrambled back when his gaze was met with Frollo, not Marleen.

"What?" he panted. "Where am I…" He trailed off as he saw the grey stone of Notre Dame. He was still on the roof. His wound, not one to be ignored, throbbed painfully making him screw his eyes shut and hunch his shoulders.

Frollo's touch returned and the rag continued to stroke his face.

Ezmere staggered to his feet and lurched away. "Leave me alone!"

He collided with the wall and clutched at it, his blood falling in crimson lines over each brick. This part of the wall came only to his waist and he realized this was where he had sat with Quasimodo all those days ago.

The view was still as beautiful as it had been then but it was as if he was seeing it through someone else's eyes. He looked to the left and saw distant fires eating away every trace that the gypsies had ever been in Paris.

His grip on the stones tightened. Soon the flames would be doing the same to him. There would be no proof that he'd even existed. After all, bones burn.

He looked down and was surprised to find that his clothing still remained on his body despite Frollo having ample opportunity to disrobe him. "So, did you do it then?" he asked after awkwardly clearing his throat.

"Do what?"

He gave a vague wave of his hand. "Whatever it was you were going to do to me."

Frollo rose and he looked to Ezmere in shock. "You think I would take you while you slept?"

"I don't know!" Ezmere cried. "You're not above torturing innocent women so how the hell should I know that raping someone while they're unconscious crosses your moral lines!"

He turned away and bit his lip as the dagger in his side throbbed again.

A hand came to rest on his shoulder and he stiffened. Frollo stood very close behind him and placed a gentle kiss on his neck. "Do you hate me, Ezmere?"

"Yes," he answered instantly.

More kisses. "Why?"

He couldn't contain a pained laugh. "Why do you think?"

"Because in your eyes, I am cruel," Frollo whispered. He grabbed Ezmere's hips and made him turn so they were facing each other then he ran his lips along Ezmere's jaw and nuzzled his neck.

Ezmere's ears burned red. "You are cruel in everyone's eyes."

"And what if I decided to spare your life?"

That took him by surprise. "You'd let me leave with Abella?"

"No…" Frollo admitted. "But you could stay here with me. You would convert and be baptized. You would become a christian. A man of God."

He took hold of Ezmere's arm and kissed the inside of his wrist. "These would have to go," he said as he slid Ezmere's gold bracelets off and tossed them over the side of the building.

The same was done to his earring and rings and Ezmere watched them fall until they hit the ground with soft jingles. He felt naked without them.

"And you'd have to stop dressing like a heathen." Frollo tugged Ezmere's shirt off over his head and stepped back to admire his chest.

Ezmere grimaced but didn't try to stop him. There was no point.

"Yes," Frollo breathed. He placed his fingers on Ezmere's collar bones then traced over them with a feathered touch. He went over every line of muscle, every inch of skin and while Ezmere wanted to look away, he kept his gaze locked on Frollo, trying to make him uncomfortable, trying to force him to realize that his actions were despicable.

"Yes," Frollo panted, oblivious to Ezmere's struggle. "When I see you like this, I see someone who can be saved, someone who must cast away his old life and start anew. You must be born again, Ezmere. I can help you." He began examining the knife wound. It was a grizzly sight but he took it in stride. "I can have the finest healers in France at your side in an instant. I can give you everything… But you must give yourself to me, completely. From this day forward you would never leave my side."

This was a part of Frollo that Ezmere hadn't seen before. The mania was still the same but he was almost… loving? Ezmere wondered what would happen if he said yes. Would he be able to spare himself this torture and escape once Frollo's guard was down? He studied the man before him, trying to determine the odds of that happening.

Already, Frollo's eyes were alight with anticipation. He knew that either way he was going to win but was letting Ezmere decide the manner in which the victory came.

Ezmere shifted against the bricks and finally broke his silence. "I have often thought of your God and his teachings. I believe that if I were ever to choose a deity, it would be him."

Frollo began to smile.

"But," Ezmere continued. "I would never allow a man as vile as yourself to influence my decision. Nor will I let you change me and groom me like a dog to fit your own standards of goodness."

The smile began to fade.

Ezmere pushed off the wall and flung out his hand as he spoke with passionate hatred. "The choice you have presented me with is not a choice at all. Will I surrender only my body, or will I hand you my entire soul?"

He looked again at the burning camp. The sight strengthened his resolve. "You may take my body but my soul will remain my own. And when I burn, my fate will no longer be in your hands. I'm not so foolish as to delude myself with hopes of heaven but should I go to hell, I'll at least have the satisfaction of knowing I'll see you again."

Over the course of his speech, Frollo's face had morphed back to an expression Ezmere was more familiar with, sneering condescension.

"So be it," he said stiffly, then he pounced. He rushed Ezmere and grabbed his shoulders, maneuvering him so his back was to a higher part of the wall. He had nowhere to go.

Frollo's lips began devouring Ezmere's own and his hands roamed freely across the younger man's body. Ezmere yelled in rage as one was sent between his thighs.

"Oh Ezmere," Frollo groaned, between kisses. "Why must you be so stubborn? We could have such a life together."

Ezmere screwed up his face and stared at the sky. He couldn't fight back, he couldn't let Abella be hurt.

Frollo began touching him through his pants in the hopes of a reaction other than hatred but Ezmere was so infuriated that he hardly felt it.

"Come," Frollo whispered into his ear. "Give in to me… Let me love you…"

This continued on for several minutes until Ezmere could hardly think straight anymore.

Frollo was sickeningly patient with him.

Soon the hatred, fear and pleasure Ezmere was feeling was blinding. He was human after all. Had anyone else been touching him in such a way, he most likely would have been kissing them back but he managed to push all that aside and choke out, "Go to hell."

Frollo pressed their bodies together and his hand, no longer content to be above clothing, slid beneath the waist of Ezmere's pants.

"Oh Blessed Maria…" he sighed as his fingers stroked Ezmere up and down.

Ezmere bit down so violently on his cheek that blood flooded his mouth. Think of something else, he told himself. Anything else. Think of Abella.

Abella with her forest of dark hair… Her glowing skin and flashing eyes. It could have been her hand doing these things to him. He couldn't help it. A light moan passed his lips.

Frollo chuckled lowly and applied more pressure.

The sound tore Ezmere's mind from Abella and he jerked violently as he remembered what was happening. He quickly pushed the image of her away. That wasn't going to work…

He thought next of the bells. It would be dawn soon. Would the city even wake without them?

Frollo sensed the shift. "No. Don't do this," he grunted as Ezmere fell silent once more. "Think of me. Think of me, Ezmere."

He shoved his tongue down Ezmere's throat and his rubbing increased in speed. His other hand roamed over Ezmere's chest, his back, his ass. Nothing was spared but still Ezmere's eyes were screwed shut as he fought desperately to deny Frollo.

"Would you like to feel me?" Frollo panted in his ear.

Ezmere tried to back away but there was nowhere for him to go. "Fuck you," he snapped.

Frollo laughed and grabbed Ezmere's hand and rubbed it against his own erection. "Do you feel how badly I want you? Do you feel my need?"

With the last bit of sarcasm he could muster, Ezmere gave Frollo a level gaze and said, "I've seen rats with bigger cocks than yours."

Frollo hit him and sensing he wasn't going to get what he wanted this way, he stepped back and commanded, "Get on your knees."

"No," Ezmere said before he could stop himself.

Frollo sneered and laughed, "Oh yes, that's right. How did you put it?" He adopted an accent very much like Ezmere's and said, "I'll never go to my knees!"

Ezmere glared at him through a haze of pain and he knew they were both remembering the first time they'd met.

"You humiliated me that day," Frollo said, his even words just barely covering his anger. "But I think things will go differently this time around." He let Ezmere go and took a step towards the ladder. "Jackson, cut her again."

Ezmere's head snapped up. "No!" But it was too late and Abella's scream echoed up through the bells to the roof. This time there was another voice and he recognized it as Quasimodo's.

"Master! What's happening?"

Ezmere stumbled past Frollo and shouted, "Quasi! Help us!"

Frollo twisted the blade in Ezmere's side sending him reeling back. "Disregard that, Quasimodo! You are not to interfere. I will be down shortly." He rounded on Ezmere and hissed, "Did I not make it clear that you were to obey me? Abella can suffer for hours as far as I'm concerned and she will if you do not _get on your knees_."

A muscle in Ezmere's jaw twitched. A great battle taking place in his mind. The word no was on his lips but the fear in his eyes gave him away.

"I will give you one last chance," Frollo said dangerously. "Or Abella will soon find herself with a wound to match yours, only Jackson isn't as precise as I am… The odds that she'll die instantly..." He trailed off and shook his head in mock dismay then stalked over to Ezmere with light, ghostly footsteps. "Now, Ezmere. Get… On… Your… Knees…"

Ezmere's blood was pumping so loudly through his body that he didn't actually hear the last four words but he knew what was said. His mind was screaming for him to do it, to get on his damned knees, while his body was threatening to fling itself off the wall before letting Frollo have his way.

And yet his love for Abella was, shockingly, stronger than his inherent stubbornness. He would do whatever Frollo wanted and she would go free. Perhaps he was being naïve, believing that Frollo would let her go, but that was the prayer that he clung to as he took a shaky breath and tried to bend his knees.

That was the first time he noticed how far gone his body was. His legs were locked. He couldn't move.

Seeing his struggle, Frollo came up behind him and kicked in the backs of his legs.

Ezmere cried out as he crumpled and fell forward, his arms catching him at the last second. The dagger visibly shifted and he clamped a hand on it, forcing it to stay in place. Exhaustion was seeping through his limbs. He wanted to collapse.

A light trickle of rain began to fall from the sky, coating the struggling pair in a light mist.

Frollo's breathing was erratic with anticipation as he waited to see what Ezmere would do. Would he fall or would he get up?

Ezmere drew on the last reserves of his stubbornness and strength. He wouldn't fall. He wouldn't lay still and silent for Frollo's pleasure. He would not.

He took an enormous, shuddering breath then used his free hand to push himself up. It was a desperate motion and his head rolled limply as he righted himself. He was on his knees.

Frollo's eyes burned with crazed victory and he basked in Ezmere's helplessness. It was over. He'd won. Ezmere was on his knees. He began undressing himself.

Ezmere bowed his head in shame. Why couldn't the man have done all this when he was unconscious? The dull terror of knowing what was to come was nauseating. Sweat poured freely down his forehead and he felt like he was already burning for his sins. He almost laughed when he realized he might have fallen to his knees anyways. He had nothing left…

He saw Frollo's bare feet enter his field of vision. "This is how I will remember you," the man said as he stepped forward and caressed Ezmere's face.

Ezmere looked at him through watering eyes.

"Proud… Strong…" Frollo gently raised Ezmere's face to his own and placed a claiming and possessive kiss upon his lips. "And mine." He ran the pad of his thumb across Ezmere's lower lip. "Completely mine."

"I'm not yours," Ezmere whispered, his voice trembling.

Frollo raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you?" And to punctuate his point, he thrust into Ezmere's mouth.

Ezmere couldn't breathe. He was choking and gasping for air and almost being knocked over with every one of Frollo's wild thrusts.

"Ezmere…" Frollo panted, the name rolling off his tongue rapturously. His moans were full of longing and his face had been transformed by awe. "Oh Ezmere… My angel of hellfire …" His fingers were tangled in endless dark curls and he used his grip to guide Ezmere's head. "Touch me," he groaned. "I'll have Abella's wounds treated. I'll force Quasimodo to leave with her. If you do this, I'll never see her again, I swear it."

Ezmere tried to speak but Frollo was still in his mouth, yet it seemed even the slightest movement sent Frollo into a wild state of ecstasy.

"Yes, Ezmere! Pleasure me and she'll have the life she's always dreamed of! I swear it on the Lord God most high!"

All Ezmere could think about was the longing in Quasimodo's eyes when she'd looked out over the city. All of her questions, her burning curiosity!

But he knew her fear was enough that she would not leave unless Frollo made her go. She would be scared but Abella would keep her safe, they would look out for each other. Marleen would take her in and they would live wherever they pleased, go wherever they pleased. She would finally be out there in the world that she loved and yet had never been able to be a part of.

Tears were falling rapidly down Ezmere's face, tears that he had no power to stop. He realized there was nothing for it now. He was going to die whether he did this or not. It was his last chance to help his friends.

And so with shaking hands, he reached out and grabbed the back of Frollo's thighs, anchoring him in place. Black, acidic self-loathing flooded his heart as he began to suck. He had only done this once before but he knew he did it well. His teeth ran along the underside of the cock in his mouth and he swirled his tongue against everything in reach.

Frollo had almost fallen over when he'd started moving but Ezmere held him steady. The only upside was that the man was now in the thralls of a pleasure so deep that he was incapable of speaking and Ezmere was spared his lecherous words. He made no sounds but deep, gurgling grunts of satisfaction as he bucked his hips into Ezmere's mouth.

Ezmere closed his eyes and thought of home. He hoped Marleen and Abella would take Quasimodo to the ocean. His best memories were of summers spent on the coast of the Atlantic. Sometimes it was just him and Marleen, other times they'd been part of a larger group but either way, he'd been happy.

He was pulled from his memories as Frollo's grunts turned to shouts and then to screams. His thrusting reached a frenzied climax.

Ezmere prayed desperately for it to end, for the man to finally finish and his prayer was answered as with one last bellowing roar, Frollo came undone. His fingers spasmed in Ezmere's hair and he doubled over, still thrusting as much as he could, then he gave a soft, groaning sigh and only then did his motions slow.

A warm, salty fluid flooded Ezmere's mouth and he almost choked to death as Frollo would not leave his mouth until he had been forced to taste every drop of white hot pleasure. Only then did he pull free and a gagging Ezmere spat as much as he could onto the ground.

He felt thoroughly sickened. How Abella had endured this for a month, he didn't know.

Frollo staggered back and leaned against the wall for support, his face slack with ecstasy.

Ezmere realized that if ever he were to run, now would be the time but he couldn't get his legs to move. He tried to stand, but only collapsed onto his side.

The dagger had been so jolted and aggravated by Frollo's movements that the blood on the ground had turned from drips to a puddle.

Fat drops of rain hit the red, sending it splashing on the bricks. Ezmere stared at his blood, entranced. He might not even make it to the stake if he were to die right here. No matter how precisely the action was done, a stabbing was a stabbing.

He tried once more to get up, but his body was absolutely done. A terrible cold began creeping through his veins and he dimly realized that he was dying. The thought filled him with a thrill of dread.

Several people were screaming. He blinked groggily, searching for the source. One of them must have been Abella. Was she being hurt again?

One word fell from his lips. "Why?"

Frollo limped to his side. "Fear not, her screams do not come from pain, at least not a physical one. She cries because she knows that you now belong to me. But you should be proud, you did your job well. You ensured both their safety."

Ezmere's breathing was becoming strained and he hardly felt it when Frollo grabbed him beneath the arms and hauled him upright.

"What are you doing?" he whispered as he was taken back to the edge of the wall.

"I only require one more thing of you, my angel. Put your arms on the wall. You must hold yourself up. Bend over."

Ezmere made a noise like a groan and a sob but he steadied himself first on one shaking arm then the other.

Paris was spread out below them under the pale light of a rising sun, shining through the clouds.

He tried to look behind him to see what Frollo was doing but Frollo wouldn't let him turn.

"Look out at the city. It's beautiful, isn't it?" Frollo crooned as he kissed Ezmere's spine and then a scar on his left shoulder. "You're beautiful, Ezmere. You're so beautiful. How I wish you had the strength to dance for me..."

There was a terrible crashing sound from the room below, followed by more screams and grunts but Frollo didn't seem to notice.

"I'm going to take this out," he said, reaching around for the handle of the dagger. "You won't burn, my dear boy. When I've finished with you, when I've claimed you in every possible way, you'll die here in my arms."

Ezmere's shoulders were shaking but he didn't say a word, not even when Frollo ripped the dagger out. It came free with a sickening squelch and hit the ground next to them with a dull clatter.

Blood was falling in earnest now but neither of them made any effort to stop it. Ezmere knew he would take bleeding out over burning any day. Flashes of his hellish dream crept into his mind and his teeth began chattering in cold and fear. The demons were coming for him.

"Relax, Ezmere," Frollo whispered, running his hands over his back.

Ezmere couldn't help himself. He was ridiculously afraid. "Please don't do this..." he choked out.

"Hush…"

Ezmere swallowed a sob as he felt Frollo's fingers start to tug at his pants but then the fingers hesitated. The seconds began to trickle by and still Frollo did not move.

Ezmere could hardly breathe, his shaking reached such a violent peak that he could hardly stay upright. He could feel Frollo watching him.

Then he heard Frollo mutter, "Saints above, what have I done…"

Suddenly, he was helping Ezmere to the ground.

"What are you doing?" Ezmere groaned, trying to lift his head but he was so spent that he could not even accomplish that small task.

"Quiet. Save your strength."

Frollo quickly threw on his robe to cover his nakedness then picked up the dagger that had so recently been buried in Ezmere's side and began cutting long strips of cloth from the hem.

"No!" Ezmere protested as Frollo began wrapping them around his torso.

Frollo exhaled violently and cried, "Silence, you stubborn boy! Put pressure on the wound! We have little time!"

Ezmere's head was full of thick fog and he had no idea what Frollo's intentions could be. The only thing he knew was that he did not want to live in a world where he belonged to him.

Frollo growled when Ezmere didn't move a muscle and so he placed his own hands on the seeping wound and pressed down to contain the blood.

"How can you value your life so little? Do you not fear death?"

Ezmere grunted and gripped Frollo's wrist. "No more than I fear you."

Frollo's lip curled in annoyance but he still did not move his hands. "And what if I offered to free them?"

"Who?"

"The gypsies captured tonight. You heard the screams. I'd wager I have over fifty of your people waiting to hang. If your own life means nothing to you, think of theirs. Think of the people you could save, the families you could reunite. Agree to stay with me and I'll let them all go."

He continued speaking but Ezmere couldn't hear him anymore because as much as he might try to deny it, he did fear death. Already he could feel a terrible cold creeping up his legs, edging ever closer to his heart.

Blinding demons of fire danced in his mind. He didn't want to die.

"Think of Abella. Your death would break her. Let me save you."

Abella… Marleen…

The cold was at his waist. If he died now he would never see them again.

That thought filled him with more dread than Frollo ever could.

"Do it," he gasped, before he could lose his nerve.

"Do you agree to my conditions?"

Conditions? Ezmere's vision was going dark. "Yes," he slurred, without truly knowing what he was saying.

"Very well."

Ezmere felt Frollo's arms slide under him and he was lifted from the blood soaked stone.

Abella's screams of misery tore through his ears. Her despair ushered him into a trance and he floated somewhere between unconsciousness and death, unable to comfort her or even say goodbye.


	10. Chapter 10

Frollo gripped the unconscious boy tightly as he descended the ladder and emerged into Quasimodo's room.

The scene before him was chaotic, with Abella trying to both unchain Quasimodo and fend off Jackson, but as soon as they heard him approaching, all three froze.

Abella was the first to move. Abandoning Quasimodo, she took a halting step forward, her face a wild mess of anguish as she saw Ezmere laying seemingly dead in Frollo's arms. She fell to her knees and even from across the room, Frollo could sense her hysteria rising.

He ignored her. Ezmere was the only thing that mattered.

"Jackson," he barked in a thunderous voice. "Run and fetch the doctor. We will be in one of the rooms below."

Jackson stumbled over his own feet in his haste to do as Frollo ordered.

As soon as he was gone, Abella rose on wobbly feet and lurched forward. Frollo side stepped her and warned, "Interfere now and Ezmere will surely die."

"He's alive?"

"For the moment."

She clung to the information like oxygen and did not attempt to hurt Frollo as he swept from the room and bore Ezmere to one of the lower levels of the church. Here, down below the main floor and under the worship hall, was a wing of rooms that currently lay empty. They would be perfect for Ezmere's recovery.

The church was abandoned. Moonlight filtered in through the windows and bathed Ezmere in a silver glow. He looked as if he had been carved from marble.

Frollo wanted to tear at his own hair, infuriated at his lapse in judgment and now Ezmere might die for his mistake.

He bit back a bitter laugh. How many times had he wished the boy dead and yet now when Frollo's only desire in the world was for his survival, he may succumb to the darkness.

Soft footfalls padded behind him. He knew it was Abella following but he was unconcerned. They both knew Ezmere's fate was in his hands.

"Open the door," he instructed her and she darted in front of them, opening the door that led to the hallway of abandoned rooms.

He chose the largest of the three and placed Ezmere on the center of the bed. Bile rose in the back of his throat as he looked at the wound that marred the otherwise perfect body.

"Place your hands on the wound," he ordered Abella. "Do not let go until the doctor tells you to do so."

She nodded jerkily and rushed to Ezmere's side, placing both hands on the crimson bandages. She seemed to be in shock.

Frollo heard more footsteps in the hall and he went to meet them. It was Jackson and the doctor.

"This way," he said, motioning into the room.

The doctor, a short man named Smith, cast him a frightened look then bustled into the room clutching a bag of what Frollo assumed would be medical supplies. The man was still in his nightclothes and his hair was mussed from sleep.

Jackson made to follow the healer into the room but Frollo grabbed his arm. "You have work that needs to be done. Send reinforcements in your place to guard the door. Find out how many gypsies were captured tonight and order your men to place them back in the jail cells. Do not kill them. Yet."

"But the gallows, the pyres…" Jackson protested.

"You are not to use them."

"But sir!"

Frollo's face contorted in rage and he shoved the man away from him. "You heard me! Now do as I say!"

Jackson nodded and sprinted away.

Frollo watched him go and took a deep breath, trying to reign in his temper. As for the gypsies, if Ezmere lived they would be set free. If he died, so would they.

Smith was muttering to himself as he looked over Ezmere.

"How long since the stabbing?"

"An hour I'd imagine," Frollo said casting his mind back. "I found the boy gutted in an alley way. It no doubt happened as the gypsies tried to leave and I wouldn't be surprised if it was one of his own people that stabbed him. They are a volatile race."

"Kind of you to take him in…" Smith muttered.

Abella hadn't even flinched at Frollo's lies. She was watching the doctor with wide eyes. "Will he live?"

Smith didn't spare her a glance. "I don't know."

She blinked back tears and turned wild eyes on Frollo. "You did this," she hissed. She began to stalk towards him.

Frollo wasn't afraid of her but his actions were limited in front of a witness. Smith was glancing at them out of the corner of his eye.

Fortunately, four guards arrived before Abella could attack. Frollo snapped his fingers at the first two.

"Take this girl and throw her out of the city. Do not let her reenter!"

"No!" she protested as they grabbed her by the arms and pulled her bodily from the room. "Ezmere! EZMERE!"

Her screams echoed through the empty hallways as she struggled in vain to return to Ezmere, then Frollo heard the final, thunderous boom of main doors slamming shut and silence was allowed to resume.

Frollo glanced at Ezmere to see if he had been disturbed by the commotion but he had not moved. Blood trickled from the corner of his lips and his eyes were shut.

Frollo pulled his robes tighter about his slim frame. It was extremely disconcerting to see someone usually so full of life, laying still as a corpse and he knew then that he could not stay. He could not watch the doctor struggle to save Ezmere and fail.

Turning to the remaining two guards, Frollo said brusquely, "Lock this door. Let no one in or out until I say. Fetch the doctor anything he needs but he is not to leave that boy unattended. Do you understand?"

Two nods.

"Good. Good," he muttered. He cast one last, hard look at Ezmere then strode down the hall. He heard the door swing shut and the lock click into place.

He could have easily called for a carriage to take him home but instead he walked the empty streets, the dense smoke from the fires making his eyes water.

He could still feel Ezmere's shaking.

Frollo clenched his jaw and shook his head side to side as if trying to rid himself of a fly. He couldn't describe what had happened up on the roof but in that moment, just as he had been about to take Ezmere, he had been hit by one sickening realization; Ezmere had been right about everything.

He had accused Frollo of lusting after him and Frollo had not only proved that to be true, but had been prepared to let such a beautiful creature die just so he could be physically satisfied. He had been consumed by the basest of human emotion. Gone was his control, his patience and above all, his logic and reasoning. If it was Ezmere he desired most in the world, how could he let him die?

A howl built in the back of Frollo's throat until his rage came screaming out of him. He tore at his hair and punched the wall of the nearest building until the skin of his knuckles split.

The pain made him slump to the ground, clutching his wounded hand and he moaned piteously.

"Blessed Mary, help me," he panted. "You placed the boy in my hands and I abused your gift…" He shifted so he was sitting against the building he had just attacked and continued his prayer. "Let Ezmere live and I will use the time with him to tame my lust. I will love the boy as does Christ. I will lead him to a life of light and righteousness. Just let him live!"

His voice cracked and he trailed off. His head ached and pulsed with each miserable breath he drew. He drew his robes closer around him and closed his eyes.

Darkness prevailed and he sighed as his mind presented him with the memory of Ezmere falling to his knees, his eyes half lidded with pain. He saw each drop of rain drip off the bronzed skin…

"Let him live," Frollo moaned. "Let me have another chance to love him."

Then he slumped over and succumbed to the blackness caused by his injuries and the tumultuous thoughts pounding in his mind.

A gentle voice was whispering prayers over him.

Frollo slowly opened his eyes and glancing around, he found himself lying in his own bed with his servant, Gabrielle, staring at him in concern.

"You are awake!" she cried in relief. "When the soldiers brought you here, we feared you were dead!"

Frollo pushed himself into a sitting position. "How long was I asleep?"

"Two days, Monsieur!"

He let out a harsh breath. Two days… Ezmere was either long dead or still on the perilous road to recovery. Frollo balled his hands into fists beneath the blankets.

"Water," he said.

Gabrielle snapped to attention and handed him a cup full of cool water.

Frollo's throat felt ragged and raw from inhaling so much smoke. His headache remained ever present.

"Summon the captain of the guard. I have much to discuss with him."

Gabrielle curtsied and flew from the room, returning a few moments later with Jackson.

"I was downstairs," Jackson said, when Frollo raised an eyebrow at his immediate appearance.

Frollo smoothed his blanket down the motioned for the captain to approach.

"Tell me the condition of the city."

Jackson closed the door on Gabrielle and said, "Thirty-six gypsies remain in prison. It would be a greater number but it seems a mass breakout freed the others we had previously controlled. We are struggling to contain them. The rest of the city is in chaos and we have instructed everyone to remain indoors until the fires are quelled and the smoke subdues."

"The camp still burns?"

Jackson shifted his weight from side to side and said uncomfortably, "The blaze jumped the walls and spread to the grass field outside the city. We are fighting it even now."

Frollo looked him over and noted the layer of soot that darkened his clothes and skin. "Spread the word that the gypsies set the fire as they left. I want none of this coming back to us."

"Understood."

Frollo's head gave a particularly painful throb and he was eager to rest again. "Anything else, Captain?"

Jackson shrugged. "The girl who we threw from the city has returned. She haunts Notre Dame, trying to find a way inside but every way door has been locked. We have removed her from the steps several times. I was unsure if I should imprison her."

Frollo rubbed the bridge of his nose as he frowned. What a thorn in his side Abella was… "Yes, place her with the rest of the vermin for now. I will deal with them all in the coming days, once I recover."

"We will extinguish the fire soon enough, or it will burn out," Jackson assured him. "But do not venture out of your house right now. The air is toxic and the smoke has blocked out the sun."

Frollo glanced at the fog outside his window. Smoke, he corrected himself, not fog.

"I understand, Captain. I have only one more order for you. Have someone release the hunchback from her chains and place guards at her door. In fact, place guards at every door of the cathedral both inside and out. No one is to enter or leave until I say so." He hesitated then before asking, "Do you know the condition of the boy?"

"No sir. I have been preoccupied with the fire."

Frollo waved a hand in dismissal. "Very well. Carry on, Captain."

Jackson gave him a slight bow before leaving the room.

When he was alone, Frollo's breath hissed out from between his teeth. He had no idea as to Ezmere's fate and from the looks of the smoke, he would have to wait several more days before finding out.

As it turned out, the days went by quickly. A healer was summoned to treat the stab wound in his thigh and to address the issue of the smoke inhalation. He rested a great deal and sent missives to calm the fearful population.

The fifth day since the ordeal on the roof top, brought a torrential rain that stomped out the remnants of the fire and forced the smoke to the earth. The rain was hailed a blessing and the people praised both the Lord and Frollo even when the rain flooded the scorched earth and sent brown muck flowing through the streets.

It was at this muck that Frollo stared as his carriage rolled through the mud splattered streets. Every now and then tendrils of filth would splash up onto the carriage windows. Frollo wrinkled his nose and looked away.

Worry about Ezmere's condition had almost driven him mad, though one would never tell by looking at him. His expression was hard and his eyes, cold. His hair was combed and smooth and his skin was clean. He looked every inch the imposing man of faith he had always been and yet on the inside, Ezmere was eating away at his conscious.

When the carriage came to a halt outside the cathedral, Frollo stepped out and was immediately aware of a commotion to his left.

He strode around the corner to find Abella brawling with two city guards. She was covered in so much blood and ash that there was not an inch of clean skin. Her face alone was the only part Jackson had not cut though that too was filthy with dirt and tears.

The guards pounced on her and pushed her into the mud, one of them struggling to clamp manacles around her wrist.

Abella kicked him away, and scrambled back to her feet even as the second guard descended upon her. He hit her in the stomach several times and again she fell though this time she was unable to fight the man off.

She curled into a ball and cried out with each of his cruel blows.

Furious, Frollo strode forward and pushed the men back. "This girl is not to be harmed! Did your captain not inform you of this? Why is she not jailed?"

The men looked both surprised at Frollo's anger and fearful of it.

"He said we were to imprison her days ago but this is the first we've seen of her! The flood washed her out of her hiding place."

Abella rolled onto her back and she stared up at Frollo with tears flowing down her cheeks. "Is he alive?" she whispered, her voice raw and scratched. "I have to see him. Please let me see him!"

Frollo stared down his long nose as he beheld her. "I regret your injuries. I promised Ezmere no harm would come to you, but you try my patience. "

He crouched down and leaned over her as he said, "I will give you one last chance to leave this city, or else you will be thrown in jail for the rest of your days. Do you understand?"

Her face twisted with despair and she asked again, "Is he alive?"

Frollo stood and began to walk away.

"Is he alive?" she shrieked.

Frollo allowed himself a small, inward smile. He would enjoy this. Without looking back at her, he said in a firm, cold voice, "No."

He had expected her to scream and wail but it was as if his words had killed her. Her face went completely blank and she did not make a sound. She would not move, even when the guards prodded her with their feet. Seeing no other option, they grabbed her by the arms and pulled her limp form down the street.

Frollo watched in satisfaction until they were gone from his sight, then he took a deep breath and threw open the doors of the cathedral.

Several priests bustled forwards to greet him and he performed his duties as their leader with barely concealed impatience. He did not have time for this.

When he finally extricated himself from their midst, he descended to the lower levels of the cathedral, moving silently as a specter amongst the cold, unfeeling stone.

Ezmere was waiting for him. Their new life was waiting for him. Or else… he would be visiting a corpse.

The guards outside the doors stepped aside at his arrival and he stretched out a long, pale hand to open the door.

Ezmere was laying still as stone on the bed. To his left, sat the doctor, who was slumped against the wall in apparent exhaustion.

Frollo drifted to Ezmere's side and after a brief pause, reached down to take hold of his wrist. He waited for several seconds, then he closed his eyes and sent up an ardent prayer to blessed mary. She had saved him. Ezmere's pulse beat weakly beneath his skin.

Frollo sat heavily on the bed for he feared he would not be able to remain standing.

The doctor, Smith, jerked awake as he did so.

"You're here," he croaked, seeming to take this as permission to leave.

"I am here and you have done well," Frollo said, sitting up as straight backed as if he had been in a wooden chair. "I take it the boy will survive?"

"He should," Smith said, weariness staining his voice. "He has yet to wake but this is expected considering the amount of blood he lost."

Frollo considered this, then nodded in agreement. "You may return to your home but I expect you to remain his doctor. You shall visit him twice or thrice daily if needed. Any decline in his health, I will blame on you."

Smith scrubbed at his bleary eyes and stood on unsteady legs. "I understand." He turned to leave but then hesitated and looked back at Frollo, "If I may, why does this boy's life mean so much to you? I have no great love of gypsies and you yourself seemed not to care for them."

Frollo's eyes flashed dangerously and he said in a smooth but deadly voice, "You think I do not care for all of the Lord's creations? Do you find my conscious so absent as to abandon a boy to torment and death?"

"Please, I didn't mean-"

Frollo spoke over him. "I saved him because the Lord would have saved him. I shall show him mercy and compassion as would our savior and he will turn away from his sin riddled life and be born anew in the power of Christ!"

Smith looked as if he didn't quite know how to respond to this. He was silent for a few moments, then bobbed his head and muttered, "Very charitable of you."

Then he left.

Frollo snorted in annoyance then closed the door after him.

He dragged a chair next to the bed and sat down, straight-backed and ridged as he looked at Ezmere.

A large, white bandage covered the wound and wrapped around his slim torso. His skin was ashen and darkness ringed his closed eyes. The only visible sign that he wasn't dead, was the shallow rise and fall of his chest and the sheen of sickly sweat that covered his forehead.

His breathing sounded louder and wetter than it should have, as if he struggled for each breath.

Frollo gazed at him, quite convinced he had never seen anything so beautiful.

There was so much to plan. Ezmere would need to be fitted for new clothing, he would need to attend mass, be baptized, and then be reintroduced to society as Frollo's ward. He would also need quarters where Frollo could keep him contained. He did not want him venturing outside and running away or, god forbid, finding Abella.

His thoughts were interrupted by a hacking cough on Ezmere's part. Frollo stared at him expectantly, hoping the cough would drag him from unconsciousness, but after the cough subsided, Ezmere continued to slumber.

Frollo reached out a hand and placed it on Ezmere's forehead. As expected, he was burning. His hand lingered there for several seconds as he hungrily took in every detail of Ezmere's face. It was almost a blessing that Ezmere was unconscious as it gave him the ability to study the boy without those blazing, green eyes watching his every move.

Unable to stop himself, his fingers slid slowly down Ezmere's skin. His fingers skimmed over his cheek, traced the arch of his dark brows and ran along his lips.

"Lord give me strength," he moaned, feeling his need rise. This was his test. Though his heart was pounding, he took a deep breath and forced his mind away from the lure of Ezmere's body. With regret, he took his hands from Ezmere's face and placed one over the boy's heart. "Give him a taste of hell, Blessed Mary," he whispered, eyes now closed in prayer. "Let fear turn him from his sinful path. Let him accept my generosity and love."

He whispered a few more words, then made the sign of the cross over his chest before opening his eyes. He was startled to see that Ezmere too, had opened his eyes.

He was staring emptily at the ceiling with such a dull expression that Frollo half believed he had died. There was no life in those eyes.

"Ezmere?" he asked cautiously, forcing his voice to remain empty of the utter jubilation he felt at his awakening.

Ezmere didn't move, not even when Frollo cautiously reached out and took his hand.

After what felt like an age, Ezmere took a shuddering breath and asked, "What happened?"

He spoke so quietly that Frollo almost didn't hear him.

"I saved you. You are going to live."

Ezmere's gaze dropped from the ceiling to him and Frollo's heart skipped a beat. The eyes were no longer vacant but they may as well have been. They held nothing but despair.

"I don't want this," he whispered. His hand twitched in Frollo's grip.

Frollo raised an eyebrow. "On the contrary. The order came from your own mouth. You told me to save you."

A tear fell from the corner of Ezmere's eye.

Frollo watched, transfixed, as it rolled over his temple before vanishing into his black hair.

"I don't want this," Ezmere said again. He was so weak that he could barely talk and yet there was so much pain and heartache in his words that Frollo swallowed uncomfortably and hastened to reassure him.

"You saved the lives of your people. Thirty six prisoners will be released as soon as I leave you."

Ezmere said nothing. Frollo wasn't even sure he had heard him.

"Abella?"

Frollo nodded. "She is gone."

Ezmere released a strangled breath and squeezed his eyes shut.

Frollo watched him for a moment then asked delicately, "Do you remember the conditions we discussed?"

He could see Ezmere's eyes wandering listlessly beneath his lids.

"I have to stay with you," he said softly.

Frollo nodded. "You must stay with me." He continued to watch for any sign of a reaction. "You will be baptized. You will be transformed."

They sat in silence for so long that Frollo was convinced that Ezmere had fallen back asleep. He stood and bowed over Ezmere's prone form to place a gentle kiss on his forehead.

When he reached the door he knocked twice on the door, signaling he was ready to leave. In the fractional span before the guards opened the door, he heard Ezmere whisper, "One day, I am going to kill you."

"You may try, dear child."

Ezmere slept for two more days.

Now that it was almost certain he would survive, Frollo checked in on him more frequently than the doctor.

"Has he tried to leave?" he asked the guards, eyeing Ezmere as he spoke.

"No sir. He hasn't moved."

Both pleased and concerned, Frollo entered the room, a bowl of broth in his hands. As was his custom, Ezmere made no motion to acknowledge Frollo's presence.

"I hear you are refusing food and drink."

Annoyance bit at him as Ezmere remained silent.

Holding the bowl in one hand, he dipped the spoon into the pale broth and held it before Ezmere's lips. He could see they were dry and cracked.

The spoon lingered there and yet still, Ezmere would not eat.

Frollo snorted. This was ridiculous. "I have no intention of letting you wither away before my eyes! You will eat!"

Ezmere stared at the ceiling and did not move.

"Shall I threaten you, Ezmere? What words would convince you to open your mouth?"

Again, he jammed the spoon before Ezmere this time intent on getting a reaction from the boy.

"If you'll remember, I do not need your consent to get things past your lips."

His words had an instant reaction. Ezmere turned a blotchy shade of red and his face contorted with pain, he reached up and hit the spoon out of Frollo's grip. It went sailing across the room and fell to the floor with a loud clatter.

Broth splattered Frollo and the bedsheets.

"Go to hell," Ezmere snarled before retreating once more behind his expressionless mask.

Frollo's arm drew back as if to strike Ezmere who did not even flinch.

"Damn you," Frollo seethed. His hand burned where the broth had landed on his bare skin.

He snatched up the spoon and then clamped his hand down on Ezmere's nose, cutting off his flow of oxygen.

"Open your mouth!" he snarled as Ezmere struggled and bucked beneath him. "Open it!"

Ezmere would not and the pair of them locked eyes. Frollo snarled wordlessly down at him, then Ezmere suddenly went limp and his eyes began to roll back into his head. With a terrible gasp of realization, Frollo released him and jumped back as if he had been scalded a second time.

He could hardly see straight for his anger as he stared at Ezmere who was gasping and coughing on the bed.

Frollo clenched his jaw. "I will be back shortly."

His furious path led him out of the bowels of the cathedral and up several flights of stairs before arriving at Quasimodo's room. He threw the door open and stepped inside.

She was sitting amidst the wooden village, her back to him. They had not spoken since that night, over a week ago now.

She stiffened at the sound of his footfalls.

"Come Quasimodo, I have a task for you."

She was the second person of the day to ignore him and it did nothing to ease his temper. Still he forced himself to remain calm. He would treat their impudence with all the tolerance the blessed lady provided him.

"I understand you anger," he began but Quasimodo interrupted in a quaking voice.

"You chained me… You… You hurt him…" She turned wide eyes upon him and asked in a whisper, "Why?"

Frollo studied her carefully. From what he remembered, she had been unconscious for the majority of the drama. He doubted she knew of the kiss or the true nature of what had taken place on the roof. He intended to keep it that way.

"Everything I did, I did to protect you. Once I learned that Ezmere meant to spirit you away, I sent guards to your room. I had them chain you because I knew you could not possibly understand the delicacy of the situation. I did not want you hurt."

She stared at him in confusion and he could see her trying to work through his explanation.

"But…"

"No," he said sharply. "He would have subjected you to a life of misery. The world is cruel, Quasimodo! There is no place for you in it!"

Her face fell and Frollo sensed the shift. She believed him and he was glad for it. He had no more time to waste on her.

Pleased, he continued, "I expect no thanks or reward for my actions, only that you understand and help me with Ezmere."

"He's alive?" she gasped.

"He is, but he is weak and has been refusing food and drink all these days. I need your help getting him to accept and adjust to this new life if he is to stay with us."

Quasimodo's mouth fell open and she gaped at Frollo. "He's staying here? With us?"

"For the time being. I intend to show him the kindness and mercy of our blessed savior. I will change him into a man of God."

"Change him," she echoed. "But you can't…"

She flushed under his stern gaze. "I only meant it seems impossible."

Frollo drew himself up and said imperiously, "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me."

"Yes, Master," she mumbled.

He waved a dismissive hand at her apology. "We cannot give up, you and I. He is counting on us to lead him into the light."

The guards outside Ezmere's room stared openly at Quasimodo with a mixture of revulsion and disgusted pity. She ducked her head low and shuffled inside as quickly as possible.

As Frollo had hoped, the sound of her limping gate made Ezmere actually look up as she approached.

A weak smile danced over his lips though it never reached his eyes. He reached out a hand to touch her cheek and she covered it with her own.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

She nodded and Frollo watched as she drank in the sight of Ezmere.

He was so very, very pale and yet it was such a magnificent feeling to even know he was alive.

Suddenly, Ezmere's expression darkened and he looked accusingly at Frollo.

"You said she would leave with Abella! You promised that if I…" He blanched and trailed off.

Frollo slammed the door shut on the guards so they would hear no more. "I'm sure you will understand that there were complications. My first priority was you, Ezmere. Abella ran off the first chance she got and I could hardly sent Quasimodo after her, alone. No, I thought it best she stay."

"I don't want to leave," Quasimodo pipped up. "I want to stay with you!"

Ezmere bit his lip and shifted against the pillow. He winced.

Frollo caught Quasimodo's eye and nodded towards the soup.

After a hesitant look at Frollo, then Ezmere, she cautiously dipped the spoon into the broth and held it before Ezmere.

Ezmere considered her and the spoon before his lips. His brow furrowed and he glared openly at Frollo who felt only a smug pleasure.

They both knew exactly what had been accomplished by bringing the girl down to the room.

As soon as Ezmere opened his mouth to accept the soup, Frollo knew he had won for Ezmere would not refuse a chance to make her happy.

She beamed with pride as he swallowed yet another spoonful, then another and another but around the seventh sip, he turned slightly green and refused anymore.

Quasimodo looked to Frollo in question, who nodded. He was satisfied for the moment.

Basking in his victory, Frollo considered this new development. He had thought the only way to control Ezmere was through threats, pain and abuse but now Quasimodo provided an entire arsenal of leverage. Frollo could only imagine how far Ezmere would go to see such a pitiful creature smile.

This form of manipulation continued on for the next several weeks. If Ezmere ate and drank, Quasimodo was allowed to visit him for an hour after every meal. It was clear that both were miserable and starved for human contact.

Little by little and day by day, the color began to return to Ezmere's skin and the haunted look in his eyes faded. Frollo had expected it to be replaced by a simmering anger, but instead came nothing. He was a shadow of his former self. Even when he was with Quasimodo, his smile did not come easily and it never reached his eyes. There was none of his usual laughter, his joy, his excitement.

This did not matter to Frollo, in fact it made everything easier. An empty vessel was much easier to reshape than one that was full.

It was on this note that he selected three books from his own personal collection and brought them to Ezmere's room. It had been three weeks since he had awoken from his coma and Frollo thought it high time he begin to fulfill his end of the bargain.

He was surprised to find Ezmere not in bed, but sitting at the small, wooden table that stood against the wall. He supposed Quasimodo must have helped him across the room for he was still not strong enough to walk alone.

Frollo placed the books in front of him and said, "I thought you would enjoy a distraction from the pain. These books discuss several issues of morality that I believe you will find interesting."

Ezmere glanced at them, then looked away, uninterested.

"Do you not wish to better yourself? Do you not wish to learn?" Frollo asked when he did not reach for the books.

"I can't read."

"But you have read the Bible. You spoke the scripture," Frollo said with a frown.

Ezmere merely shrugged, then after a moment added, "Marleen read it to me once when I was a boy. I remember the verses."

Frollo sat down opposite Ezmere as he considered this new development.

"You remembered the verses? Even after all this time?"

Ezmere looked as if he couldn't care less that he had impressed Frollo. He took a long, tired breath then recited, "You shall therefore lay up these words of mine in your heart and in your soul, and you shall bind them as a sign on your hand, and they shall be as frontlets between your eyes."

"Deuteronomy," Frollo breathed. "What a mind you have…"

He went to touch Ezmere's hand but Ezmere quickly moved it off the table.

Ignoring this slight, Frollo carefully evaluated him. He knew exactly what had to be done and yet it had to be approached delicately. If everything went the way he wanted, then this would be the beginning of a new relationship for the two of them.

"If you'd like," he said in a soft, cautious voice, "I could teach you to read."

Ezmere was silent.

Frollo waited with baited breath to see if he would protest and when he did not, he said, "I shall gather the necessary supplies."

When he returned less than an hour later, Ezmere was still sitting at the table.

Frollo arranged the stacks of parchment, ink and quills neatly on the table then sat and said brusquely, "We shall begin with the letters that make up the English language. These are the core of all words both spoken and written."

Dipping his quill into the ink, he then traced a tall and elegant "A" onto the parchment.

"This is the letter A." He explained the sounds it made. He could see Ezmere watching out of the corner of his eye.

Frollo wrote out several words that started with the letter. Anchor, ant, apple.

Ezmere studied the list, his eyes narrowed, then said hesitantly, "Abella."

A sour taste filled Frollo's mouth but he did not let his irritation show. He inclined his head. "Yes."

He wrote the girl's name below the other words then pointed to the B in her name.

"That, incidentally, is the second letter of the alphabet."

He added a B to the line of letters but Ezmere remained fixed on the name of his past lover.

"You said she ran?"

His brow furrowed and he stared at the name with such intensity that Frollo half expected the girl herself to materialize before them.

"Yes. Once I brought you down the ladder and sent Jackson to fetch the doctor, she ran without a backwards glance at you. I fully intended to have her wounds bathed and cared for but she did not give me the chance."

Ezmere was silent as he digested this.

"I never expected her to abandon you in such a state. I thought she would care to know your fate but it seems your life is of little consequence to her."

He continued with his lesson.

It was only when they reached the letter H that Ezmere interrupted, "I don't believe you."

"About what, dear boy?"

"Abella."

Frollo set the quill down and looked to him in question.

"I don't believe that she abandoned me. I think you either killed her or forced her to leave."

"She is not dead, Ezmere," Frollo said sharply.

Ezmere glanced at him. "Either way, I am glad she is free of you."

Despite the unsavory topic of conversation, this was the most Frollo had heard Ezmere speak in weeks and he was eager to savor the sound. If only to keep the conversation going, he said, "I would have let her stay throughout your recovery. I think she would have been a comfort to you."

This made Ezmere snort in derision but the action clearly pained him and he clutched his side. "Don't lie," he said, his eyes watering from the aching wound. "You wanted her gone. You wanted me alone."

"I do not deny that," Frollo said intending to placate him, "but it does not change the fact that she abandoned you."

Ezmere shifted in his chair and a lock of hair fell into his eyes. Frollo reached out to brush it back.

Ezmere went stiff as a board and his hand shot out to grab Frollo's wrist, pushing him away.

They glared at each other, neither one willing to let go.

They stayed locked in the stalemate, frozen like statues until Ezmere's arm began to shake and he was forced to let go.

Defeated, his hand fell limply into his lap and he did not resist as Frollo combed the wayward hair back into place.

On his face was again that terrible, empty and expressionless mask. The muscles twitching in his neck were the only indication of his discomfort.

"What is it, exactly, that you want from me?" he asked, though his jaw was clenched so tightly that it was a marvel he was able to speak at all.

Frollo raised an eyebrow. "I don't know what you mean."

Ezmere flushed and he spat, "Why am I here? Why didn't you just fuck me and let me die?"

"Mind your tone. You are in the house of the lord and you will not spew such venomous words!"

He gave Ezmere a stern glance then took a breath and continued, "I saved you because you deserve more than death even as you ask for it now. What bleak lives you gypsies must live if you would throw away your life with such eagerness."

Ezmere glowered at him. "Yes, my life is bleak now. Every time I see your face, I am consumed by hatred for what you did to Abella and I would rather die than let you turn me into a monster, twisted by eternal loathing."

Frollo slammed a hand on the table, upsetting the ink bottle. "Again you speak of that viper!"

"I love her," Ezmere growled.

With those three words, the temper that Frollo had been fighting to contain the past few weeks surged up and broke past his carefully place barriers. He leapt to his feet and with one sharp motion, he swept the ink, quills and paper onto the ground.

"Never say that again, you ungrateful rat!" he spat, his face turning red with emotion. "I saved your life! Not her! I saved you and lifted you from a life in the slums, a life of sin and depravity Ezmere, and I will be damned if I let that wicked girl hold you back! I love you! She does not! Speak of her no more!"

He stood there with his chest heaving wildly and his own words ringing in his ears.

Ezmere's jaw went slack and he stared at Frollo in complete revulsion.

"You don't love me!" he cried. "This isn't love! This is lust and obsession! You have learned to take by force what you are not given!"

Frollo ignored the insult and lowered his head so his face was inches away from Ezmere's. "If that were true, why did I not simply have my way with you on the roof?"

Ezmere looked more enraged than Frollo had ever seen him. "You did…" he growled.

Frollo laughed cruelly. "Not in the way I wanted. I wanted, I still want… all of you."

The terrible words hung between them. He could see Ezmere's chest heaving with anger. If he had been at his normal strength, Frollo was sure they would have been at blows. Now his injury made him an immobile prisoner.

Frollo walked around the table with slow, deliberate footsteps, stopping once he was directly behind Ezmere.

"What is stopping me from taking you right now?"

Ezmere struggled to rise but Frollo grabbed him by the neck and slammed his head down onto the table and held him there.

Ezmere groaned horribly as his wound was wrenched then his mouth snapped shut and he took shuddering breaths through flared nostrils.

Frollo tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling as he took breaths almost as wild as Ezmere's. No one else made him feel so alive, so acutely aware of the wonders of the world.

"Do it then!" Ezmere gasped. "Just do it and let me go!"

His pleading made Frollo's blood burn with triumph.

"You are here," he said, still keeping Ezmere pinned down, "because I see in you the perfection of our fallen race. You can be saved and redeemed and I will be the one to do it. You owe your life to me and one day you will thank me for it."

It was only then that he let Ezmere go and returned to his seat.

"Please!" Ezmere groaned as he painfully sat up. Tears splashed down his cheek. "I'm not what you say! I can't be what you want!" He trailed off as pain overtook him, then he looked at Frollo with wide and desperate eyes. "I'll do anything you want, you can have whatever you want, just please… please… let me go!"

Frollo closed his eyes and smiled. "Begging? Where is your pride, Ezmere?"

"Gone," Ezmere said, his voice raw. "You have taken everything from me…"

"Do not fear, child," Frollo whispered as he stood and swept towards the door. "The Lord shall provide."

Ezmere's face fell into his hands and his shoulders shook with silent sobs.

Frollo saw this and his smile broadened.

Ezmere was broken. It was time to start to rebuild.


	11. Chapter 11

The ocean wrapped Ezmere in its wild embrace and pulled him beneath the waves. Abella was at his side, her long hair fluttering through the water like a mermaid. Smiling, she took his hand and pulled him to the surface. They gasped for air, then Ezmere pulled her to him and kissed her long and deep. He could taste the salt on her lips…

And then all too suddenly, a loud cough in the hallway jerked him out of his trance and he twitched as reality once again stabbed through his dreams.

He wasn't looking at the ocean, it was a long dried water mark on the ceiling. Abella was not there. The only salt on his skin was from the angry tears that welled in his eyes. He hated that he could not stop them. It seemed that all his days were spent crying and longing for what could never be. And what long and dark days they were…

If not for the injury that still pained him, he swore that he would run screaming through the halls of Notre Dame until he burst out of the doors. He would find Abella. He would find Marleen.

At least that was what he told himself.

The truth was that he often wondered if he would even make it out of the bed. He was simply too tired...

Frollo's manipulation and abuse wore at him like an anchor, constantly dragging him down farther and farther into a black hole of shame. He knew Abella had endured much worse but he supposed that he simply was not as strong as she. He had no idea how she had continued to function. Being the object of Frollo's obsession was a taxing position.

He couldn't blame her for leaving him. She had suffered far too much on his account. And perhaps this was another reason he did not fight for his freedom. Who was left for him outside these stone walls? Abella would find another to love and Marleen was now free to live her life as she pleased without another mouth to feed.

Despair sapped at his strength. He lacked the motivation to even reach for his water cup that rested not two feet away, but if he did not empty it, Quasimodo would not be allowed to visit him that afternoon.

Her visits were the only thing that made him want to draw breath anymore. She alone cared about him, at least she was the only one whose motivations were not doused in perverse obsession.

The pain in his side had lessened substantially over the weeks since the attack and yet reaching for the cup cost him a staggering amount of energy. He knew he wasn't eating enough despite Frollo's demands.

And Frollo would soon be there for their daily reading lesson. While Ezmere loathed every inch of the man, he found himself almost looking forward to the coming hours of parchment and ink. Over the past few weeks he had mastered the alphabet and had progressed to sounding out the short sentences that Frollo wrote for him.

He was careful, however, to hide his love for learning. He never let Frollo see any sign of emotion on his face for fear it would bring on another attack.

His cheek still bleed from how badly he had bitten it when Frollo grabbed him.

He probed the sore with his tongue, checking if its healing had progressed any further.

More voices in the hall alerted him to Frollo's arrival.

And so began another lesson. Ezmere listened intently to what Frollo taught him though he rarely said a word of his own. He could sense the other man becoming frustrated with him for his lack of enthusiasm, a situation that was only made worse when Frollo began to threaten Quasimodo. At that, Ezmere had said in a flat voice, "Threaten her again and I will slit my own throat."

That had seemed to unsettle Frollo and the next day, all sharp items were removed from the room.

Ezmere lay in bed and stared at the water mark. He hummed a soft tune that Marleen used to play for him.

Suddenly Frollo burst into the room. He was much earlier than usual.

Soon his pale face came into Ezmere's line of vision, blocking his sight of the water mark.

"Get up," he ordered.

Ezmere looked past him. There was a spider crawling across one of the beams.

"Get. Up."

Glaring at Frollo, Ezmere sat up then swung his legs over the side of the bed. His wound pinched but did not cause any debilitating pain. He knew Frollo would hound him for hours if he did not go to the desk for their lesson.

He shuffled to the desk and sat down heavily, already exhausted from the brief movement. He waited for Frollo to sit beside him.

He did not and instead said, "Your health is progressing well enough that I intend to have you moved to another wing of the cathedral. While it is clear to me that your body is healing, your mind I fear, is beginning to succumb to this self-pitting slump you have forced upon yourself."

Ezmere didn't argue. He scratched at a blot of dried ink on the table. He didn't resist when Frollo grabbed his arm and pulled him to his feet.

"You are still too weak to walk alone for such a distance." And he pulled Ezmere's arm over his shoulders and helped him limp out into the hallway.

Ezmere let Frollo lead him wherever they were going. Two guards accompanied them.

Before long, his lungs were heaving and his legs burned at their sudden use after laying still for so long.

Frollo plied him with gentle encouragement and helped him up a flight of stairs that wound upwards in a tight spiral.

Sweat dripped down Ezmere's face and he now clutched at Frollo to stay upright as they took one step, then another.

"We are almost finished," Frollo said, adjusting his grip on Ezmere's side. "You are doing well."

Too exhausted to respond, Ezmere merely focused on taking gasping breaths as they finally reached the top of the stairway.

Here they came upon another hallway. At the end was a beautiful stained glass window that sent all the colors of the rainbow dancing down onto the stone floor. A small door stood to the right of the window and it was here that they stopped.

Ezmere blinked in surprise. The room was fit for a king.

The bed was massive and swathed in countless blankets of unrivaled quality. A fire crackled in a magnificent fireplace and a window with frosted glass let in a pleasant, bright light.

"It is here that the Archdeacon and other figure heads stay when visiting Paris," Frollo told him. "I have decided you may use it until you are fit to move into my own home."

A cold pit formed in Ezmere's stomach. His mouth again tasted of blood.

Frollo left him propped up in the door way, then snapped his fingers at two servants. "Draw him a bath and help him into the clothes I have supplied." Shifting his attention back to Ezmere, he continued, "I shall return for you in three hours."

Then he was gone before Ezmere could even blink.

His mind reeling at all that had just occurred, Ezmere hardly even noticed as the two women approached him.

Both were matronly with subdued but kind faces. Their silence matched his own as they motioned for him to follow them into another corner of the room, where sat a metal tub hidden behind a small partition.

He had to clutch at the walls and the furniture as he moved slowly and painfully across the room.

The women chatted quietly to each other as they helped him out of his clothing.

When he lifted his arms for them to remove his shirt, he winced at the smell of his body. Languishing in a bed had done nothing for his hygiene and yet part of him wondered with a hint of wicked humor if the smell would keep Frollo at bay.

He almost smiled and the women took it as a sign of encouragement.

Once he was naked, he crawled awkwardly into the tub and flitted between bouts of feverish shivering and burning with sweat as they poured buckets of water onto him.

He moaned as his body adjusted to the heat and he found himself the most relaxed and comfortable he had been in weeks.

One woman began to scrub at his matted hair with a bar of lavender soap and again he moaned again at the sensation.

They laughed lightly and continued to help him clean himself.

He had never had a real bath in his life, always washing in rivers or lakes, and now that he was in one, he wasn't sure he could bring himself to leave it. The water worked like a balm, stripping away his impurities and leaving only tranquility in their place. His screaming muscles were quieted and soothed by the water's warm embrace.

As much as he desired to stay, the women chastised him with a sternness that reminded him of Marleen, when after an hour, they pulled him from the tub and wrapped him in a thin towel.

He glanced back at the water and wrinkled his nose, seeing the cloudy color it had become. Perhaps it was best he had gotten out.

"These are for you," the shorter of the two women said, holding up a pair of breeches which she passed to him.

Ezmere hesitated, not sure if he wanted to don the clothing Frollo had selected for him, but after a moment, gave in. After all, it was not as if he could go around naked for the rest of his life.

The women helped him into dark breeches then into a wine red tunic with gold embroidery. On top of the tunic went a vest, the same dark shade as the breeches, then came a thick belt and fine leather boots for his feet.

Ezmere studied himself in the mirror with a critical eye. To his relief, the outfit was nowhere near as ridiculous as he had expected from Frollo, in fact he could see nothing about it that he disliked except perhaps the boots. He would always prefer to feel the ground beneath his feet.

"You will find bread and fruit waiting on the desk. He wishes you to eat," chirped the woman, then they both curtsied and left.

Ezmere picked up the plate of food then sat on the edge of the bed, water dripping from his wet hair onto the blankets. Between bites, he continued to examine his clothing. While it was nowhere near as extravagant as the garb of the upper-class, it was still the finest clothing he had ever worn in his life. Marleen had always spent too much of her coin on him, making sure he was warm and happy. Now that he thought back, he was certain she had gone hungry more than once to give him a full belly.

He wondered what Abella had told her. As he imagined the possible stories Abella could tell her, the fruit went sour in his mouth. He limped to the window and tried to stare out into the city but the glass had been buffed in some strange way that it prevented him from seeing anything. He guessed it was Frollo's doing to keep him cut off from the rest of the world. He tried to open the window but the heavy glass remained stubbornly shut.

Annoyed, he rapped the glass with a knuckle before examining the rest of the room. Several tall bookshelves lined one wall and an ornate wooden writing desk held neat rolls of parchment.

Selecting a book at random, he sat back on the edge of the bed and opened it, but he did not read. His mind was still caught up in thoughts of Marleen. What would she think of him, clothed like a prince, lounging around eating fruit and reading. He was certain she would be ashamed of him.

There came a knock on the door.

"Ezmere?"

It was Quasimodo.

"Come in," he called to her.

The door opened and she pushed her way past the guards. When she saw him, her eyes lit up and she trotted across the room into his open arms.

"Oh! You look wonderful!" she cried, putting her hands on his face and examining his appearance.

It was true, he felt better than he had in a long time. Perhaps the warm water had washed the cobwebs from his mind.

"I feel well," he told her and he twisted a lock of her hair between his fingers. "Thank you for coming to see me."

She grinned, her one good eye alight with happiness, and she galloped to the window he had been struggling to open. She pushed against the glass with all her might and the pane of frosted glass creaked and groaned before slowly swinging outward.

A beam of sunlight fell across the carpet, illuminating the countless specks of dust that floated past.

Ezmere gasped and practically flew to the open window.

A gust of fresh air hit him in the face, stirring his hair and his clothes with its calming embrace. Ezmere laughed in relief and sat on the ledge, his eyes closed and his face tilted up towards the sun as he drank up its warmth.

He felt Quasimodo's hand slip into his own and he squeezed her fingers in thanks.

They stayed that way for several minutes, neither of them moving but merely enjoying the sun and the wind.

Finally, when Ezmere felt the skin of his face begin to burn with the pleasure of the sun's rays, he opened his eyes and looked down.

The sight of the ground hundreds of feet below made his stomach flip and he redoubled his grip on Quasimodo's hand. She would not let him fall.

The sun had dried his hair and a bumblebee floated past, drawn perhaps by the scent of the soap that still clung to Ezmere's skin. It landed on his arm and Ezmere smiled, truly smiled as Quasimodo reached out and let the fluffy insect crawl onto her finger before it went flitting away.

"Oh Quasi," Ezmere moaned. He leaned far out over the ledge and reached out with his arm as if to grasp the wind.

Quasimodo laughed but he heard a flutter of nerves in the sound and he noticed how she stepped closer, ready to grab his should he begin to slip.

After three more deep breaths, he leaned back inside and let her pull the window shut. She looked almost guilty as she did so, but Ezmere didn't protest. The sun had warmed him to the core and dulled his pain. The sun still burned in the sky, the trees still grew and the birds still sang.

Smiling, he returned to the bed and picked up the book he had abandoned.

He patted the bed next to him, motioning for Quasimodo to sit. As she did, he looked back to the book and began to read aloud, "It befell in the days of Uther Pendragon, when he was king of all England, and so reigned, that there was a mighty duke in Cornwall that held war against him long time."

Quasimodo gasped in delight and applauded his accomplishment.

Ezmere ducked his head and grinned, fiercely proud of what he had achieved. His reading was by no means perfect and he had struggled with several of the words but still, he had read.

A flicker of motion caught his eye and he looked up to see Frollo standing in the door way, watching him with such intensity and hunger that Ezmere flinched.

"Continue," Frollo said softly as he entered the room. He seated himself at the desk chair.

Ezmere glanced at Quasimodo. He was certain Frollo would not attack him in front of her, and so he continued to read though now in a halting tone.

"And the duke was called the Duke of…" He paused for he could not pronounce the next name.

"Tintagil," said Frollo, still watching.

Ezmere nodded and started again. "And the duke was called the Duke of Tintagil. And so by means King Uther sent for this duke, charging him to bring his wife with him, for she was called a fair lady, and a passing wise, and her name was called Igraine."

It was here that he again trailed off. Frollo had stood up and waited for him to finish before saying, "The progress you have made is remarkable. I do not just mean your reading."

He smiled and Ezmere tensed. The warmth in his tone was disconcerting.

Frollo clasped his hands behind his back. "Come children, you both have places you must be. Quasimodo, ring the bell for noon mass."

"And Ezmere?" she asked. "Where is he going?"

Frollo gave her a stern look. "With me. I think he would benefit greatly from a sermon, now go."

She sent Ezmere one last fleeting glance then darted away.

"You should not speak to her so harshly," Ezmere said on behalf of his friend.

Frollo rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Perhaps not but I have found that she moves faster when she believes me to be aggravated."

"Are you not?"

Another smile. "On the contrary. Seeing you so well has made me quite pleased. I believe you are now ready to begin hearing me speak the Lord's gospel. It will undoubtedly be a moving experience for you."

Ezmere closed the book and set it aside. "I have heard you preach before. I used to sit in the rafters and listen."

This seemed to interest Frollo. "And how did you find my teachings?"

Ezmere looked him dead in the eye. "You condemn far more than you praise and your people fear you more than they do hell."

Frollo chuckled. "You see much, my dear boy. Over the years I have found that fear is a far more effect motivator than kindness. These people are like sheep, so easily swayed by temptation that it takes all of my strength to keep them on a righteous path."

"Perhaps," said Ezmere still watching the older man warily. "But when people are consumed by fear, it leaves little room for love."

Frollo stood over him and placed a finger beneath Ezmere's chin, tilting his head up. "I do not wish for you to fear me."

Ezmere jerked his head back then stood so they were almost nose to nose. "I find that hard to believe." He broke eye contact and crossed the room to place the book back on the shelf. "You wish me to fear you and I do. I fear that you will never stop using other people to manipulate me."

Frollo seemed to understand his worry for he said, "Quasimodo is in no danger, Ezmere. And I do not wish to fight with you any longer."

"Continue to makes advances upon me and our fight will take us to the grave," Ezmere vowed.

Frollo inclined his head. "I understand. I will restrain myself in the hopes that you will give your new life a chance. I wish to quench your thirst for knowledge for I find your mind a most interesting place."

Ezmere crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the bookshelves. "I will never be happy here."

A small nod from Frollo. "It may feel that way now but your future is entirely dependent on your attitude."

"My attitude," Ezmere snapped, "is entirely dependent on you!" He was feeling more and more annoyed with the direction the conversation was taking. "You are the one who brought me here against my will and yet you are upset with how I choose to conduct myself in captivity!"

"I did not bring you here against your will! I gave you a choice, you said yes!"

"I was delirious!"

Frollo waved a hand sharply through the air. "Enough! We could stand here for an eternity, going round in circles with each other or we can accept what has happened and work towards a better future! Do you wish to be miserable for the rest of your life?"

Ezmere avoided Frollo's gaze and absentmindedly tugged at the collar of his shirt. "No," he mumbled after a few minutes of tense silence.

Some of the anger faded from Frollo's face and after taking a deep breath, he motioned towards the door. "Will you attend mass?"

It was after much gnashing of teeth that Ezmere finally made up his mind. "Fine," he said as he stormed past Frollo and out the door. "But only because there's nothing better to do."

And for the first few days of his new life, that remained true. Going to mass allowed Ezmere a distraction. There were people all around him, there were words to listen to and songs to sing.

On the fourth day, he had looked up to see Quasimodo sitting high above him in the rafters, concealed in shadows. Ezmere grinned and longed to be with her, high above the rest of the crowd. He wondered what her opinions were on Frollo's sermons.

Every day, Ezmere walked with Frollo in the cathedral. They discussed his preaching, the nature of good and evil and occasionally, their pasts. They were both careful to avoid upsetting the other, for both had grown tired of fighting.

As Frollo had told him countless times, this was his life now. It was made surprisingly more endurable by Quasimodo's constant presence, Frollo's restraint and the fact that Ezmere could feel his body returning to normal. His ravenous hunger had come back with a vengeance and he had consumed an entire roast chicken by himself while Quasimodo laughed and ate her own food with matched enthusiasm.

Frollo had chastised them both regarding their manners but a small smile had remained on his face throughout the meal.

The following day's sermon was the first to bore Ezmere. As usual, the crowd always took a few minutes to adjust to Ezmere's presence when he entered with his two guards.

One young woman sitting several rows in front of him, turned and after evaluating him for a moment, raised a dark, arched eyebrow and gave him a dazzling smile which Ezmere couldn't help but return. She was incredibly beautiful, with her alabaster skin and mountain of yellow hair and Ezmere stared at the back of her head for several minutes as he listened to Frollo drone on about taxes and tithing.

At first, Ezmere had listened intently for he always sought to find discrepancies that he could argue with Frollo during their walk but today there was little that caught his attention.

Gails of wind rocked the cathedral, the howling occasionally drowning out Frollo's words.

Ezmere let his gaze drift to the side and he stared out the distant window for a few seconds, watching as light splatters of rain hit the glass and trailed out of sight.

He must have stared at the window for too long because the guard to his left put a hand on either side of Ezmere's head and twisted his neck back to the front.

Fuming and yet painfully aware of the people all around, Ezmere quickly considered his options for revenge.

His eyes scanned the floor for anything he could use to annoy the man sitting beside him. He bent under the pretense of adjusting his boot and scooped up a small, tan pebble. From this lower angle, his gaze fell upon a spider clinging to the back of the pew in front of them. It was about the size of the pad of his thumb and he knew that while this particular family of brown spiders were harmless if left alone, they had an excruciating bite when aggravated.

He elbowed the man who had grabbed his head and pointed to the spider. The man grunted and raised his leather gloved hand to kill it.

Quick as a flash, Ezmere reached out and scooped the spider out of the corner, trapping it in his hands.

The guards on both sides of him stiffened and one of them whispered out of the corner of his mouth, "Don't you dare…"

Grinning, Ezmere transferred the spider to one hand and adjusted his grip on the pebble he still clutched between his fingers.

He faked an enormous yawn, stretching as he did so. Once his hand came to rest behind the man's head, he opened his hand and the spider tumbled out of his grip and onto the floor behind them where it scurried away. The pebble however, Ezmere dropped down the man's shirt.

The effect was instantaneous. The man's face turned a blotchy shade of purple and he began moving strangely as he tried to rub his back against the pew in a strange, jerking attempt to kill the spider.

Ezmere watched with amusement as the man struggled not to make a scene and yet clearly the thought of the spider crawling along his skin was too much to bear.

He uttered a small cry as the pebble poked him and his thrashing made it look as if he was having spasms.

Ezmere pressed his fist against his mouth, and stared at the ground as people began to notice the commotion.

His shoulders shaking with suppressed mirth, Ezmere chanced a glance at Frollo.

Even as far apart as they were, Ezmere could see the anger on the older man's face and his gaze shifted from the twitching soldier to Ezmere. His eyes narrowed in disapproval.

Ezmere ducked his head and allowed himself to smile at the ground as the soldier finally seemed to realize that everyone was watching him and fell still.

Frollo stared at the pair of them a moment more, then continued with his sermon.

Ezmere could feel hatred radiating from the man next to him but he was unconcerned. Perhaps next he attended mass, Frollo would do away with the guards.

Frollo continued to shoot distrustful glances at Ezmere and he wound up his speech rather abruptly after the incident.

Ezmere tried to rise and leave with the rest of the crowd but neither of his guards would let him pass and so he sat back down and fiddled with the hem of his shirt.

When at last the cathedral was empty, Ezmere's guards stood and yanked him to his feet.

He raised an eyebrow but did not resist as they pulled him up the aisle to the pulpit where Frollo stood staring down at them with all the authority of the world. Lightning flashed in the window behind him and Ezmere squinted against the flash of light.

When Frollo finally did speak, it was in a voice of quiet wrath which made the storm outside seem weak in comparison.

"How dare you," he said, his eyes closed as if he couldn't stand the sight of them. "How dare you embarrass me here in this sacred place."

Ezmere was silent as he tried to think of an excuse for his behavior. None came to mind.

"How dare you," Frollo said again and this time his eyes opened and traveled to the soldier who had made the disturbance. "Did I not tell you that he would test you? Did I not warn you of his ways?"

"Sir!" the man protested but Frollo growled and he fell silent.

"Nothing he could have done to you was worth the commotion you caused! I should have you flogged!" Frollo thundered and he began to pace.

Ezmere almost laughed, delighted at the turn of events.

The second soldier, who up to this point had been silent, suddenly stepped forward and interrupted, "The boy is the one to blame! He put a spider down Abel's tunic!"

"I didn't actually," Ezmere interrupted. "I would never do that to the spider."

The soldiers sputtered with rage. "We both saw it!"

Ezmere rolled his eyes and said, "Untuck your shirt. I think you'll find a rock, not a spider."

Abel did as he said and a second later, produced the same pebble that Ezmere had dropped.

"You fool," Frollo scolded, once again fixing Able with a withering gaze. "Ten lashes." He snapped his finger at the other soldier. "You, what is your name?

"Leon."

"Well, Leon, tell your Captain of my punishment. See it is carried out before the sun sets."

Leon stuck out his chin. "I won't. Way I see it, this wasn't Abel's fault. If anyone should get the lashes, it's him." He shook Ezmere's arm, which he still gripped.

"No," Frollo said firmly. "It was nothing more than a childish prank." He jabbed a finger in Able's face. "It was you who abandoned your self-control and acted like a fool!"

"Any man would have acted a fool if facing the bite of one of those monsters!" Leon argued. "We both saw the boy grab it! It was only his cursed gypsy blood that kept it from biting him!"

"Ezmere is no longer a gypsy," Frollo began to argue but Leon howled with outraged laughter.

"This whelp is brown as the dirt and you dare to say he isn't a gypsy?"

Ezmere frowned, displeased at the insult but he said nothing. He was certain he had never heard anyone speak this way to Frollo and from the white hot anger on Frollo's face, neither had he.

"We lost seventeen men to the gypsies that night they left." Leon's nails dug into Ezmere's skin and his voice increased in volume until he was close to shouting. "Those rat bastards killed my friends and now you're keeping one like a pet. Has he been punished for his crimes against Paris? No! You've dressed him up and have so many men guarding him in his cage that we're short when we patrol the streets!" Leon shoved Ezmere forward, towards Frollo and sneered, "What's your interest in this boy, Minister? Why is he better than any other gypsy filth?"

Frollo stepped in front of Ezmere so he could glare down at Leon. He leaned forward like a hunching gargoyle, standing almost a head above the soldier.

"You speak most brazenly for a man whose life means little more than an ant. I could crush you in an instant."

To Leon's credit, he held his ground though at this point it was out of more stupidity than bravery. "I had to watch the boy's door once," he said, pointing at Ezmere. "And I heard the strangest exchange between the two of you… An exchange that I'm certain the Archdeacon would be interested to hear about."

Ezmere's heart gave a strange spasm in his chest.

Abel was glancing between Frollo and Leon with obvious confusion.

Molten anger rolled off Frollo in waves and Ezmere took half a step back. The four of them stood frozen for a moment, with all eyes fixed on Frollo who looked as though he was trying to eviscerate Leon with the power of his glare.

Finally he said in a voice colder than ice, "What do you want?"

A brief smile of triumph flitted across Leon's face. "Gold."

"Done," Frollo snarled and he straightened up. "Come with me to my quarters and we shall arrange for your payment."

Leon held up a finger. "And I want to punish the boy."

"Out of the question."

Frollo's protectiveness did not surprise Ezmere. It spoke of his demented nature that no one else was allowed to touch what belonged to him.

"I think it would do me some good to make him bleed," Leon insisted with a cold glint in his eye. "Paris is owed the blood of a gypsy."

Frollo's finger's twitched and he glanced at Ezmere out of the corner of his eye.

Ezmere squared his shoulders though his heart had begun to beat faster. Frollo was trapped and they all knew it, except perhaps Abel who still did not appear to grasp what was going on.

Sensing he had won, Leon looked at Ezmere though he still spoke only to Frollo. "What was it you said, Minister? Ten lashes?"

Ezmere glanced at the door, wondering how far he would get if he ran.

Frollo let out a harsh bark of incredulous laughter. "He is injured! Ten lashes could kill him!"

Leon shrugged. "If he is as weak as the rest of his race, but why should that concern me? His kind are well suited to rotting in the ground."

Ezmere's temper flared and he stalked forward to Leon but Frollo swept out an arm and pushed him back. "Five," Frollo growled.

Leon laughed and said mockingly to Ezmere, "Look at you cowering from a few stripes! I bet you'd let an innocent child take the pain if it would spare your own back!"

The words echoed in Ezmere's ears and though he knew the man was trying to needle him, the barbed words roused his anger. He would not let Frollo fight this battle for him.

"I'm not so weak as he thinks," Ezmere spat. "I'll take your ten lashes."

Leon grunted his approval and spat on the floor.

And still smarting at the man's gibes Ezmere couldn't help but add, "And I hope you wield the whip yourself. With an arm weak as yours I'm sure I'll walk away with hardly more than a scratch."

"Ezmere," Frollo hissed out of the corner of his mouth.

A humorless snort came from Leon as he stared up at Ezmere like a hyena eyeing its next meal.

"You will come to regret that comment," he promised.

Ezmere didn't care. He stomped down the steps and let Leon and Abel grab his arms.

Frollo watched them go, seemingly rooted to the spot, then he yelled, "Ten lashes, Leon and not a stripe more or there will be hell to pay!"

Leon gave a mirthless laugh. "Ten lashes. And after, I'll come for my gold. First I will see him bleed."


	12. Chapter 12

Ezmere grunted as Leon shoved him forward.

They were in the midst of the soldier's barracks, a dirty and dull place that Ezmere would have hated even if it weren't for the whipping post that towered over him.

Leon had wasted no time, but marched Ezmere straight from the cathedral to the post, seemingly intent on carrying out the punishment before Frollo could think up a way to intercede.

Many of the soldiers glared at Ezmere. One man even threw a stone that struck him on the thigh. Ezmere tried to ignore their taunts and insults even when they insulted his people as a whole. He was certain they would have shouted at any gypsy, it was his misfortune to be the only one left.

When they reached the post, Leon had Ezmere remove his shirt and vest and then began to mock his body.

This too, Ezmere ignored although his vanity made it difficult. He knew he was slim by the soldiers bulky standards, but he usually had a layer of muscle over his chest, legs and arms that added to his frame. Now, he was simply thin but he reasoned it was hardly his fault he had been laying in a bed, starving for almost a month.

As his wrists were tied above him, Ezmere began preparing himself for the pain to come. He had been whipped before. A baker had once caught him stealing bread when he was no more than thirteen years old. The stripes had faded from his skin but Ezmere still remembered their bite. It had hurt, but it was nothing he couldn't handle.

Leon approached and held up a bit of leather. "My captain says you're to have this," he explained. "I myself wouldn't care if you choked on your teeth."

Ezmere opened his mouth and let Leon roughly shove the leather between his teeth, then the man's gaze fell to the white bandage around his torso.

He ripped it away and they both glanced down at the healing stab wound.

The size of the wound betrayed the amount of pain and suffering it had caused. Only three inches long, it looked like a gill that had been cut into his body and was covered end to end in small, precise stiches. A layer of purple bruising surrounded the incision.

Leon poked at it with a gloved finger, gaging Ezmere's reaction, then he drew back his fist and with two quick strikes, hit Ezmere first across the jaw then directly over the wound.

Ezmere's vision flashed black and red and he sagged against the ropes. Agony such as he hadn't felt since his stabbing coursed through his body and he struggled to draw breath.

It was in this state that the first strike bit at Ezmere's back.

If Leon had hoped that punching Ezmere would cause the whip to hurt more, he was mistaken. The pain in Ezmere's side was so intense that the whip felt little more than a strange tugging motion against his skin.

Through he could not feel the pain, he felt the blunt impact of each strike, knocking him forward into the post and driving out what little breath he had in his lungs.

Spots danced over his vision. A sea of jeering, pale faces surrounded him. He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing to block out the sight but then they flew open again. One man had stood out from the crowd.

Jackson's face was burned into Ezmere's mind and he was forcibly reminded of Abella's screams.

Ezmere began to shake. His eyes bored into Jackson's and he forced himself to take a deep breath even though he was sure his side would split open.

Slowly, the spots began to fade and when he blinked, he found that he could see clearly. He heard Leon call out, "Thirteen!"

Again the whip bit at his back and Ezmere sucked in a strangled breath.

Only when Leon reached fifteen did Jackson hold up a hand for the lashing to stop.

Ezmere could feel warm blood trickling down his back and onto his legs. He did his best to ignore the feeling and focused on not making a fool of himself in front of the soldiers. His hands were untied and he carefully lowered them. His back throbbed as he crouched to pick up his shirt and vest. He couldn't bring himself to raise his arms again, so he sort of shrugged the shirt over his back like a cape to hide the cuts and blood.

Jackson jerked his head towards the street and Ezmere took slow steps after him. He walked with a permanent grimace twisting his features as he and Jackson left the barracks.

"Can you manage?" Jackson asked, looking back at him with indifference.

Ezmere merely grunted. He was standing, wasn't he?

Soon they came to a dark carriage from the depths of which glared a pale face.

Frollo threw open the door and extended a hand. Ezmere took it without question and let Frollo pull him inside. Once Ezmere was sitting, Frollo leaned back out the door and whispered something to Jackson, who glanced at Ezmere then nodded and left.

Ezmere could feel the beginnings of a throbbing headache which only intensified as Frollo slammed the door shut and they began to rattle down the street.

He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the side of the carriage. He could feel Frollo watching him.

After several minutes of silence, Frollo finally said, "I am sorry I could not protect you from this."

Ezmere cracked an eye open as he heard Frollo rustle around with fabric and then a heavy cloak was draped over his shoulders, covering his bare torso.

Frollo continued in a stern voice, "You must learn to behave for I cannot save you from everyone who would do you ill. Your actions have consequences now whether you like it or not."

Ezmere was too tired to argue. He let his eyes drift shut once more and did not open them again until the rocking carriage fell still. As soon as the horses came to a stop, he opened his door and stumbled out.

"Ezmere!" Frollo said, clearly frustrated with his impatience. "Let me help you!"

"I can walk," Ezmere snapped and he lurched away.

Frollo pursed his lips.

Ezmere was so focused on staying upright that it took several steps for him to realize that they were not at Notre Dame, but Frollo's personal home.

He stopped dead and Frollo came to his side. They both stared at the door.

"No," Ezmere said suddenly. A thousand foul memories were crowding his mind. This was where Frollo had tortured and manipulated Abella. This was where they had fought. This was where Frollo had confessed his lust.

"Ezmere," Frollo said firmly. "I would not have brought you here if I did not think I could control myself. We must attend to your back."

And he swept past Ezmere to enter the house. He held the door open with a pointed glare.

Ezmere stared down at the cobblestones beneath his feet as he mulled over his choice. The weight of the cloak on his raw back was agony and he longed to collapse, whether onto a bed or the stone, he did not care.

He was so tired of being in pain…

And so before he could talk himself out of it, he stepped forward.

Frollo smiled as Ezmere entered the house and Ezmere ignored it.

He ignored everything from the curious glances of the servants, to the crucifixes on the walls. He ignored the room he entered and he ignored the pain in his back as he climbed onto a bed and collapsed onto his stomach.

A bottle of wine was thrust into his hand and he drained the entire bottle in four long draughts. He clutched the empty bottle long after they finished working on his back. The cold glass comforted him and he grew upset when Frollo refused to let him have anymore.

And so now he lay in a stupor, half intoxicated by the wine, half by pain and he watched the sun wheel past outside the window.

Someone had bandaged him at some point and a thick salve had been placed over the cuts, somewhat numbing them and stopping the bleeding.

Night turned to morning and because there was no other way to truly stop Ezmere's pain, Frollo allowed him another bottle of wine. This one he drank more slowly, sip by sip as he lay on the bed. He thought of Abella and the wine turned sour in his mouth.

When night fell on the second day since the whipping, Ezmere pushed himself up off the bed and began to wander through the house.

He found no guards to stop him, though this was not a surprise. He was sure Frollo would be much more careful with the men in his employ moving forwards.

As Ezmere came to the top of the staircase, he found himself looking down on the front door. There was no one to stop him from simply leaving.

He descended the steps, his footsteps silent and quick, and put a hand on the dark, brass handle. He could leave… He knew he could. It was dark out and he could hide in the shadows as he made his way out of the city.

And then what? Where would he go? To Marleen? There was no way he would even find her. The gypsies were hiding.

To Abella? If he could even find her, did he want to force her to relive the loathsome memories that would accompany his face?

He supposed he could live alone in the woods but the thought pained him. He couldn't imagine being truly alone…

No.

He balled his hand into a fist and punched the door in frustration. He felt trapped, a feeling made worse by the knowledge that it was now as much his fault as it was Frollo's.

Fed up with himself, he turned and walked down the hall in the search for company. He came almost immediately upon a dining room with a small wooden table with a chair on either end. There sat Frollo next to several candles, writing intently upon a sheet of parchment. An uneaten tray of food sat next to him along with a glass of wine.

Ezmere lingered in the doorway for a moment, then walked in and dropped into the chair across from Frollo.

Frollo looked up first in annoyance, then surprise as he saw Ezmere sitting there.

"What has happened? Are you well?" he asked quickly. His quill sat loosely in his hand as he studied Ezmere.

Ezmere grabbed a bit of cheese off the plate as well as Frollo's untouched cup of wine. "I'm fine," he mumbled.

"I confess, I did not expect you to be up so quickly. Do your wounds not pain you?"

Ezmere sighed heavily and threw back the wine. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and said, "I have become so used to pain these past months that it no longer burdens me as it once did."

Frollo raised an eyebrow, then after a moment, went back to writing. "I agree you have been delt more than your fair share of injuries."

Ezmere laughed dryly. "Most of which came by your hand."

This made Frollo narrow his eyes. "Indeed."

Bored, Ezmere grabbed one of the pages Frollo had finished writing. It took him a moment to decipher the tall, slanted writing. It seemed to be a letter to a garrison commander about the unfortunate deaths of two men in an accident while out on patrol. He put the page down and said surprised, "They're dead? Both of them?"

"Of course," Frollo said without looking up. "Did you really think I would let men with such dangerous information live?"

Ezmere supposed not. He had suspected Frollo would want Leon dead but the immediacy of the action caught him off guard.

"Are you displeased?"

He thought for a moment then said, "No."

Frollo made a small noise of agreement then resumed writing. Ezmere reached past him for another quill and a blank page then he began to idly scribble the dark ink across the page as he practiced his letters.

They sat in silence, the only sound that of their respective quills scratching against the parchment.

After what must have been at least an hour, Frollo sat up and tapped a finger against the table. "It is late and you must rest. I still expect you to attend mass tomorrow."

Ezmere stretched his arms and bit his cheek when the skin on his back was pulled tight and the newly formed scabs cracked and tore.

"As you wish," he said, intending the words to mock but instead they seemed only to please Frollo who stood and placed a hand lightly on Ezmere's shoulder.

"Your progress has pleased me immensely, Ezmere. It gives me great hope for our future." He then ran a knuckle down Ezmere's cheek before turning and departing, his long robes swirling about his feet.

Once he was gone, Ezmere slumped forwards and lay his head on the table. He was strangely upset by Frollo's departure, there had been no struggle, nothing for Ezmere to fight. Indeed, it felt as if Frollo was growing bored of him.

A great pain welled up in Ezmere's chest and it took him several seconds to come to terms with the ache in his heart. The sensation pounded through his body and he felt as if gravity was tugging at him, trying to force him to the ground. With a jolt of fear at the feeling, he stood up so suddenly that his chair tipped over behind him but he paid it no heed. He was already gone.

He ran thought the house until he found what he was looking for, the kitchens and from there, the wine cellar.

Ezmere grabbed the first bottle he saw and pulled the cork free with his teeth. Crimson liquid came spilling over his hand and he drank and drank, until his legs could not support his weight. He toppled to the floor amidst the sea of newly emptied bottles.

Strange purple and red figures danced behind his eyelids though they did not soothe him. Whenever he opened his eyes, he felt the world spin and his stomach churn and so he surrendered to the shapes and let them lead him deep into a world of fermented colors and dreams.

"Here! He is here! I did not know what to do!"

"I understand. You may go, Gabrielle. I will deal with him."

The noise made Ezmere jerk awake and he became instantly aware of a wetness on his face. He curiously dipped a finger into the puddle and watched as it came back stained red with wine, then the figures watching him shifted and a beam of light from the hallway lamps made him squint. Frollo waded through the sea of glass and knelt at Ezmere's side.

"What is the meaning of this, Ezmere?" he asked.

The calmness of his voice confused Ezmere, who had expecting a flurry of anger and shouting. Frollo grabbed his arm and tried to pull him up but Ezmere cried out at the pain in his back. He wondered if his blood had contributed to the red on the floor.

Frollo immediately let go and instead of trying to get him to stand, helped to push Ezmere into a sitting position.

"What is the meaning of this?" he asked again.

His words rang in Ezmere's head and it was then that he knew he had only been asleep for an hour or two at the most. The alcohol was still heavy in his mind.

"What's wrong with me?" he slurred. His head pounded and he bent forward, his knees drawn to his chest.

"Nothing is wrong," Frollo assured him though his voice sounded as if it came from far away. "The wine will fade and your wounds will heal."

"No," Ezmere said too loudly. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth. "What's wrong with me?" He raised his head to look at Frollo. "Why has everyone gone?"

Frollo was looking at him strangely. "Who has gone, child?"

Child. Ezmere muttered the word and chewed it over. He did feel like a child. Lost, exposed and alone. Pathetic.

He hated himself for it.

"They're gone," he said helplessly. "And…" He made a weak gesture towards Frollo. "And even you, you'll grow bored of me soon."

He trailed off and his head once again fell into his hands.

"Look at me, Ezmere."

Ezmere wiped the back of his hand across his cheek and did as Frollo asked.

Without speaking, Frollo leaned forward and kissed him. He did not touch or caress, he did not demand that Ezmere open his mouth. It was simply a kiss.

Ezmere froze and while his mind was fumbling to find a solution, Frollo withdrew. Ezmere found himself leaning after him.

There was a burning light in Frollo's eyes and he said in a voice so low and fierce it was almost a snarl, "Never doubt my affection for you. I would burn down this very city if you asked it of me."

Ezmere stared at him for a moment, then he believed him.

Frollo was breathing heavily through flared nostrils and his hands seemed to convulse several times. "I will not force myself upon you while you do not have the strength or wits to deny me," he said finally and his hands closed into white knuckled fists. "We have come too far for such brutality."

Without taking his eyes from Ezmere's, Frollo said slowly and deliberately, "You will come to me tomorrow evening."

A shudder ran through Ezmere's body.

"You will submit to me of your own desire and I shall reward you richly for it."

Then he was gone and Ezmere was left surrounded by the bottles he had drained and the feeling of Frollo's lips on his.

He felt a sudden twist in his stomach and he threw up onto the dirt floor of the cellar. Hardly noticing the burning in his throat and nose, he wiped his mouth with a trembling hand, then staggered up and stumbled back to his allotted bedroom, where he fell into a deep and troubled sleep.


End file.
